What We Remember Forever
by ED of Oblivion
Summary: Companion piece to “Never Too Late.” A series of snippets and drabbles further detailing Jim’s experiences during his “second childhood.” Fluff. De-aged/kid!fic.
1. A Sign of Happiness

**Title:** What We Remember Forever

**Fandom:** _Star Trek (XI)_

**Rating:** PG

**Pairing:** Kirk/Spock (friendship)

**Warnings:** OOC-ness on Spock's part (although by default I'm trying to write him as in-character as I possibly can, so we'll just see how that turns out), references to past emotional child neglect, and – as per usual – MASSIVE FLUFF.

**Notes:** First off, I would recommend reading "Never Too Late" before any of this collection. :) Secondly: these snippets and drabbles will be in no particular order and will undoubtedly vary in length. Also, I'm writing these as I think of them, so I honestly have no idea when the next one will be posted. However, I do have some ideas floating around, so I'll be sure to keep these coming.

(Ideas and suggestions for this collection are always welcome if you'd like to PM me!)

* * *

_**A Sign of Happiness**_

(in which Jim makes a discovery)

"_Purring would seem to be, in her case, an automatic safety valve device for dealing with happiness overflow."_ –Monica Edwards (1912 - 1988)

* * *

Spock lay on his back in defeat for a third time, although he found he did not truly mind it. The small figure leaning across his chest laughed, and the corners of Spock's lips twitched slightly in return.

"You have bested me again, Captain."

Jim lifted himself up enough above the half-Vulcan to look at him. "I'm really good, huh, Spock?" The 4-year-old was still smiling, but Spock could still sense the slight hesitancy in his tone that had come with his initial shyness. At such a young age (_too young_, Spock thought), Jim was inadvertently expressing an uncertainty of his own behavior – a need to know that he was being approved of. They were worries the child should not have had, had the care he'd originally received at his current age been more than simply "adequate."

Spock pressed down on the slightly bitter thoughts that skimmed the edges of his mind.

"Indeed you are, Jim," he answered reassuringly, sitting up on the gym mat and letting Jim fall carefully into his lap. "You are, as human terminology goes, a 'natural.'"

The bright blue eyes lit up and the boy leaned forward and hugged Spock, putting his small arms as far around the half-Vulcan as they would go. Spock looped his arms around the child in return, leaning down and letting his cheek hover above the blonde head. He shut his eyes and allowed his left hand to slide up Jim's back and settle near the side of his head, fingertips lightly touching the boy's temple. This simple feeling, this carefree friendship Jim was capable of projecting onto others even as a child… it never ceased to fascinate Spock. He gradually tightened his arms around Jim, his natural posture becoming more comfortable over the passing seconds. He felt the tell-tale signs of a rumble in his chest, and as he exhaled Spock allowed a light purr to escape, reverberating gently through his throat and nose.

Jim pulled back from him, staring up at the man in awe.

"Spock, are you a kitty?"

The half-Vulcan raised an eyebrow at the sudden inquiry. "I am Vulcan," he responded. When Jim continued to stare up at him, his gaze still curious but now somehow slightly disappointed, Spock added, "However, it is true that Vulcans _are_ descended from a species of animal similar in part to Terran felines, so your observation is, in fact, logical and is not completely untrue."

Jim continued to stare at him, his expression now one of simple, innocent confusion.

After a few moments, Spock released his breath slowly in a soft, resigned Vulcan-esque sigh. "Yes, Jim, I am a 'kitty.'"

The child in his lap giggled and reached up to place a hand near the top of Spock's head, raking his fingers through the coarse black hair. While the half-Vulcan started minutely in surprise at the action, the light scratching against his scalp was not an unpleasant experience (quite the opposite, in fact), and after a moment Spock relaxed his frame and bowed his head to allow Jim better access.

"You're a really big kitty," Jim said, his voice filled with the kind of wonder only a child could possess. Although his expression did not change, Spock's eyes filled with a deep warmth as he watched Jim.

"Indeed," he said, letting himself lean forward slightly and brush his forehead gently against Jim's. As the child's hand moved down to scratch the area behind his left ear, Spock shut his eyes in contentment and – much to Jim's ever-growing amusement – released a loud, low purr.

If anyone had come into the gym during that time and witnessed the pair, Spock wouldn't have noticed at all.

And somehow, the half-Vulcan found as he purred into the laughing child's ear, he couldn't bring himself to care.


	2. Beginnings

**Title:** What We Remember Forever

**Fandom:** _Star Trek (XI)_

**Rating:** PG

**Pairing:** Kirk/Spock (friendship)

**Warnings:** OOC-ness on Spock's part (although by default I'm trying to write him as in-character as I possibly can, so we'll just see how that turns out), references to past emotional child neglect, and – as per usual – MASSIVE FLUFF.

**Notes:** Thanks to everyone for reading and reviewing! It makes me happy to hear that this little add-on is already being well-received. :)

Anyway, this next bit is essentially the same as Bones' observation from "Never Too Late," except this time from Spock's point-of-view.

* * *

_**Beginnings**_

(in which Spock starts it all)

"_Too often we underestimate the power of a touch, a smile, a kind word, a listening ear, an honest compliment, or the smallest act of caring, all of which have the potential to turn a life around."_ –Leo Buscaglia (1924 - 1998)

* * *

He was so small.

It was a given fact at this point and did not benefit from further stressing, but to Spock the thought was illogically perplexing. Before him sat James T. Kirk, captain of the U.S.S. _Enterprise_: his biological identity had been resolutely confirmed by tricorder readings, as well as a full medical examination from Doctor McCoy. He was in ample health, and by all medical means – save the drastic reduction in age – there was nothing physically wrong with him.

But he was so _small_.

At four years of age, Jim appeared a ghost of his former self. Gone was the broad smile, the cheerful attitude and ringing laughter, instead replaced by a pair of downcast eyes, a disconcerting lack of expression, and an unnervingly silent voice. A Vulcan child would have at least been expressing some kind of curiosity, but Jim wasn't even doing that. Spock could not comprehend it: from what he knew, human children were even more emotional and unrestrained than adults. They ran and they played and laughed, and _why_ wasn't Jim behaving in such a manner?

Then Doctor McCoy had revealed his most recent finding, and Spock found that his flow of coherent thought had been subtly disrupted.

After the doctor had finished explaining the origins of Jim's condition, Spock could not help but think of the memories he had of his childhood, specifically those involving his mother. He could vividly remember the numerous human affections his mother had insisted on bestowing upon him when they were alone together, away from his father's eye. Sarek would have most likely never approved of Amanda's actions, as Spock's strict Vulcan discipline had begun as soon as he was capable of coherent speech. Although his training would not allow him to outwardly admit it, Spock was thankful that his mother had been so persistent with her affections – the memories she had left imprinted in doing so had become priceless. Spock was sure that it was because of his mother that his childhood had not been completely unpleasant. And even though she was now gone, Spock had come to realize that he could "rest well," so to speak, knowing that his mother had cherished and loved him.

But Jim…

Jim didn't have that.

Spock felt his hands clench into fists behind his back.

It made no logical sense. Even Vulcans, as outwardly emotionless as they seemed, were driven to cherish and protect the children they bore. Had Jim truly gone through childhood without proper emotional care? Without hugs and human kisses and the ever-assuring presence of a mother's attentiveness? It was clear that Jim was not wanting for food or any kind of bath, proving that his very basic needs had been met, but there were _Klingons_ who treated their offspring better.

_Illogical. Totally and intolerably illogical._

As Spock came out of his thoughts he discovered that McCoy had left the room, leaving him alone with Jim. The half-Vulcan looked up at the child, who would still not meet his eye. Spock felt as though something heavy was clenching in his abdomen. Though he had only been serving under his captain for one year, he and Jim had developed a rather close friendship. They had melded twice already, both times out of necessity – once to transfer important information while captured during an away mission, and once to save Jim's life – and what Spock had seen of his captain's mind proved that he truly was a good man at heart. It was a painful thing to realize that the man who was practically good to everyone – the man whom Spock had come to care so deeply for – had not been treated as well in the past.

It could not go on any longer.

After a short moment, Spock took a step closer to the biobed Jim was sitting on. As though summoning up the courage while doing so, he slowly pulled a hand from behind his back and extended it until it rested carefully on top of the boy's head.

Jim chose that moment to look at him. His head jerked up in what Spock interpreted as surprise, but he did not pull away. Two slow seconds moved by before Spock decided the child was not uncomfortable with the contact and began smoothly carding his fingers through the blonde hair. As he did so, Spock could feel the light traces of emotions emanating from Jim – curiosity, slight wonder and, most noticeably, the lack of familiarity associated with touch. Spock could not fully suppress his frown, but quickly pushed away his darkening thoughts and continued to pet Jim's head.

The child appeared to be enjoying his ministrations, and Spock could feel Jim's initial hesitancy being slowly taken over by something else – an emotion he couldn't quite place. Nevertheless, he felt unusually spurred by Jim's seemingly positive reaction, and after a moment's hesitation Spock bent down and placed a gentle kiss on the boy's forehead. He pulled back to find Jim's expression more open than before, his shockingly blue eyes wide with a sense of awe.

Spock kissed him again. As more kisses followed without a second thought, Spock wondered if it had felt this comfortable and effortless for his mother whenever she had doted upon him as a child. If that was true, then he knew he would never fully understand the mindset of Jim's own mother – truly, if giving such simple affections to such a deserving child brought forth as satisfying a sensation as he was currently experiencing, Jim's mother was an utter fool not to do so.

He felt Jim's hand come up to rest on his wrist. Spock pulled back and was greeted by the sight of a growing smile on the boy's face, and if the pattern of low, breathy sounds coming from him was any good indicator, then Jim was _laughing_.

Feeling a small smile of his own tugging at the corners of his mouth, Spock leaned in again and continued to shower the child's forehead with his affections.

_It's all right now, Jim._ He placed a kiss on the boy's nose. _You are safe here._

He could hear the distinct footsteps of Doctor McCoy as he neared the exam room. Placing one last kiss on Jim's cheek, and with a sense of reluctance, Spock pulled completely away, his fingers gently brushing against the boy's palm as he maneuvered his hands back behind him. Within seconds he had schooled his expression into its regular appearance.

McCoy appeared at his side with a hypospray, evidently unaware of what had transpired in the room just seconds prior. As he moved to carefully administer it to the boy, Spock realized that Jim was still looking at him. Meeting the blue eyes, and remaining assured that the doctor's back was still to him, Spock gave a small smile.

It could be their "little secret," he supposed.


	3. Heartbeats

**Title:** What We Remember Forever

**Fandom:** _Star Trek (XI)_

**Rating:** PG

**Pairing:** Kirk/Spock (friendship)

**Warnings:** OOC-ness on Spock's part (although by default I'm trying to write him as in-character as I possibly can, so we'll just see how that turns out), references to past emotional child neglect, and – as per usual – MASSIVE FLUFF.

**Notes:** Thanks again to everyone for reading so far, and much love to those who left reviews. In all honesty, feedback is my personal crack, so even if you're just leaving a tidbit saying that you liked a chapter, I really do appreciate it. XD It's also what helps spur me to write more in some cases, especially if I have a schedule as hectic as I do now, so I'm sending my personal thanks out to everybody for helping me get my writing butt in gear! ;)

Anyway, this time around, Bones gets some lovin'. :3

* * *

_**Heartbeats**_

(in which McCoy takes a break)

"_Some emotions don't make a lot of noise. It's hard to hear pride. Caring is real faint – like a heartbeat. And pure love – why, some days it's so quiet, you don't even know it's there."_ –Erma Bombeck (1927 - 1996)

* * *

Leonard McCoy fell back onto his office couch with a sigh. A double shift hadn't been good for him at all, but he'd done what he had to. With M'Benga out for another two days (from a broken leg he'd managed to get himself after the _Enterprise_'s latest away mission), McCoy was stuck with the extra work. Granted, there wasn't really anything that needed to be _done_; it had been a fairly quiet day, and with no patients that needed his immediate or constant attention, McCoy had settled for doing routine inventory. Again. For the third time that day.

It was amazing how doing essentially nothing all day could make somebody so tired. McCoy tossed an arm over his face and shut his eyes, happy to finally be getting a well-deserved break.

His office door chimed. "Come," the doctor called, managing to suppress a groan. He didn't bother getting up. He was off duty, dammit, and unless somebody came in reporting a crisis he wasn't going to bother with making himself officially presentable.

The door slid open and Nurse Chapel poked her head in, a smile on her face. "Doctor McCoy," she said sweetly, sounding as if she was suppressing a giggle, "you have a small guest."

McCoy lifted his arm from his face and couldn't stop his smile from forming at the sight of the small figure approaching him.

"Hey there, Jimbo," he greeted warmly, sitting up slightly on the couch. "What do you have there?" He gestured to the large piece of paper in Jim's hands. Christine's smile grew and she quietly ducked out, leaving the two alone.

"Bones, look!" The child thrust the paper enthusiastically at the doctor, who took it and held it up in front of him.

"This is nice, Jim," McCoy said, taking in the sweeping shapes and rather vibrant colors of the drawing. "Did you make this?"

"Uh-huh!" Jim said, nodding. "It's the _Enterprise_, see?" McCoy looked closer and smiled wider as he saw the resemblance. "Mister Chekov helped me. He got dagrums… um, dig… dia…"

"Diagrams?" McCoy offered gently.

"Yeah! He got those from Mister Scotty so I could make it okay."

"Well, you did a great job," McCoy said, setting aside the drawing and ruffling the boy's hair. "I'm real proud of you, sport." Jim's eyes shined at the praise. "We'll definitely have to put it up somewhere. How about by—" The doctor suddenly cut off as a stretching yawn overtook his last word. He'd nearly forgotten how tired he was. As the yawn subsided, McCoy slumped back onto the couch, suddenly unwilling to sit up any longer.

Jim regarded him curiously. "Is it your naptime now, Bones?"

McCoy couldn't stop the chuckle. "Yeah, I'd say it's about that time." His eyes shut of their own accord and he lay still. Jim was silent for a moment before he inched closer.

"Bones?" McCoy cracked an eye open at Jim's quiet inquiry. "Can I, um… Can I nap, too?"

That kid was going to be the death of him if he didn't stop looking like a puppy every time he asked for something. He knew that clinically, you couldn't be killed by cuteness, but _damn_, Jim was cutting it close.

_You're too damn adorable for your own good, Jim_, the doctor thought fondly.

McCoy opened his arms up wide. "C'mere, kiddo."

Jim didn't wait, eagerly climbing up onto the couch with the doctor. McCoy couldn't resist, and as soon as the child was on top of him, he seized the moment and quirked his fingers against the boy's ribs. Jim positively squealed; he tried to retaliate as he was wrapped up in the doctor's arms, only to duck his head and squirm in breathless mirth as McCoy blew a raspberry against the side of his neck.

Eventually McCoy ceased his attack, lying back against the cushions as Jim regained his breath.

"No fair, Bones!" Jim chided, although he was smiling. "You're bigger!"

McCoy shrugged. "Cut me a break, kid, I need _some_ kind of advantage, don't I?" He ruffled Jim's hair again, his heart warming at the sight of the boy's obvious enjoyment of the touch. McCoy settled himself more snugly on the couch, watching as Jim seemed to get the idea and do the same. The doctor sighed contentedly, ready to be swept up in a few blissful hours of sleep, when he felt Jim deliberately move down his side and settle against his waist, resting his head against McCoy's abdomen.

Jim's head suddenly lifted, an unsure look on his face. He set his head back down, pressing his ear against McCoy's lower ribcage as if he were listening for something. McCoy raised an eyebrow as Jim sat up and pressed a hand to where his head had been second before. There was an expression of determination and confusion on the boy's face now, and McCoy decided to speak up.

"What the matter, Jim?"

Jim looked up at him, his eyes almost worried. "Bones, where's your heartbeat?"

For a short moment McCoy didn't speak, a little stumped at the strange question. Then he gently pulled Jim up towards his chest, taking one of the small hands and pressing it over the left side of his chest.

"It's right there," he answered, watching Jim's face light up in realization. McCoy took the boy's hand and moved it to his own chest. "See? Yours is right there, too."

"Oh." Jim looked genuinely surprised, but seemed to take the information in stride, instantly curling up against McCoy and laying his head against his chest. McCoy considered letting the question simply go, but his curiosity got the better of him.

"Why'd you think it was down there, Jim?" he asked good-naturedly.

Jim spoke as if it was the most well-known fact in the universe: "'Cause that's where Mister Spock's is."

A sly grin worked its way onto McCoy's face. _Of course._

"Is it, now?" he asked, speaking with the air of a knowing parent. Jim nodded against him.

"Uh-huh. When he gives me hugs I feel it here." He poked McCoy just below the ribs. "And sometimes when I nap, he lets me use his tummy as a pillow."

McCoy couldn't stop his growing laughter. He knew that Spock had to have been crawling out from under his logical rock for Jim ever since that first day in sickbay, but the sheer thought of the Vulcan willingly hugging Jim and allowing the child to cuddle with him was just too much.

When his laughter subsided, Jim spoke again. "Bones, how come yours and Spock's hearts are in different spots?"

McCoy settled down and drew Jim closer to him. "Well, kid, we're both just… different on the inside," he said, feeling his eyes droop as his mirth sobered. "It's just how we're made up. Doesn't really mean much after all, since we can't change it. It's what's on the outside that really matters." McCoy's eyes shut. "I suppose we're different on the outside, too. But… we can all change on the outside, Jim, and that's what matters. Even if our bodies are different or we come from different places, we can all change. We can get along and find common ground. I know that Spock and I… don't share a whole lot of that, but I'm pretty sure we both care about you the same way. If what you're saying is true, Jim, then I _know_ that that's the truth."

McCoy wasn't sure just when he had stopped talking to Jim and started talking to himself. It was interesting that it took Jim reverting into a child to get him to think about the similarities between Spock and himself. It was true – he and Spock didn't share a lot together – but now that he was actually thinking about it, McCoy knew that there was much more to the Vulcan than he'd always given him credit for. Spock was certainly more than capable of experiencing emotion, and now that he appeared to be coming out of his shell it was much more interesting to interact with him. Perhaps after this was all over – after Jim was back to his adult self – McCoy could try out a proper friendship with Spock. It was certainly worth a try.

Jim hadn't said anything after McCoy had finished speaking, and the doctor assumed he'd started falling asleep. Taking a deep breath and sighing softly, McCoy began to let himself drift away into his eagerly-anticipated nap.

Against him, Jim suddenly gasped in remembrance.

"Bones! Did you know that Mister Spock is a kitty?"

McCoy snorted violently with laughter.


	4. Acceptance

**Title:** What We Remember Forever

**Fandom:** _Star Trek (XI)_

**Rating:** PG

**Pairing:** Kirk/Spock (friendship)

**Warnings:** OOC-ness on Spock's part (although by default I'm trying to write him as in-character as I possibly can, so we'll just see how that turns out), references to past emotional child neglect, and – as per usual – MASSIVE FLUFF.

**Notes:** Guys, I am _so_ sorry for the wait. A lot's been happening for me for the past few weeks between school, work and the like, and I haven't really had any time for writing. Also, I'm kind of caught between fics right now, but that's pretty much my own fault. XD

Anyway, this chapter is dedicated to darke wulf, who wanted to see little Jimmy standing up to someone who is "being mean" to Spock. (Hope I did okay! This kind of got away from me.) :D

(Also, this chapter is totally un-betaed, so please forgive any errors. I'll fix those later if there are any.)

Enjoy.

* * *

**_Acceptance_**

(in which Jim defends Spock)

_"The greatest gift that you can give to others is the gift of unconditional love and acceptance."_ –Brian Tracy (b. 1944)

* * *

When the Telorian ambassador first boarded the _Enterprise_, there was no reason to think it would be anything other than a routine mission. Although not a true member of the Federation, the planet of Telor had recently immersed itself in a series of treaties with the Federation concerning what deposits of dilithium it possessed. With a satisfyingly peaceful friendship established between itself and the Telorians, the Federation (it's higher-ups, at least) had decided it was only fair to aid the planet's ambassador as he underwent peace talks with a neighboring world. And as the _Enterprise_ happened to be scheduled to pass by Telor's star system when the peace talks were set to take place, it was only natural that the flagship be given the task of escorting the Telorian ambassador between his destinations.

Jim's condition aside, Spock had deduced that the _Enterprise_ was in no position to refuse the mission. It would take, at most, two days total to complete, and as the mission was not necessarily a diplomatic one, the captain would not be required to be present during its duration. Upon the ambassador's arrival, Jim was left in Nurse Chapel's care as Spock and McCoy, now temporarily the highest ranking officers aboard the ship, went to the transporter room to give a proper welcome.

The ambassador himself was seemed friendly enough as he stepped off the transporter pad. His scaly blue skin seemed to shine as he took in the sights around him, his golden eyes warm as he was greeted by Spock and McCoy.

"A Vulcan!" the ambassador noted with interest after the formal introductions had been made. "This is the first opportunity I have had to meet one of your kind. It is an honor." He flawlessly parted his fingers in the Vulcan greeting. Spock reciprocated.

"Likewise, Ambassador," he said, lowering his hand and gesturing towards the door. "If you would follow us, we will lead you to your temporary quarters." As the three left the transporter room and began navigating through the corridors, the ambassador continued to speak.

"I must thank you for your kind welcome," he said leisurely, nodding to both men before looking at Spock, "but is it true that you are actually second in command? Where is your captain?"

"The captain is presently unable to perform his duties," Spock answered as they walked. "Therefore I am assuming temporary command."

The ambassador looked curious. "Is he injured?"

"No, the captain is in good health. However, he has recently acquired a… condition that has rendered him unfit for duty. He will be well in a matter of days."

"I see. I wish all the best for your captain." The ambassador's face brightened some. "However, it must be reassuring for your captain and crew to know that a being such as yourself is retaining command until the true order of things is restored."

Ahead of Spock and the ambassador, McCoy rolled his eyes. "Hear that, Ambassador?" he called back offhandedly. "That's the sound of Spock's supposedly nonexistent ego inflating just another degree larger." As they rounded a corner, he looked back to find Spock giving him a look that could pass as a warning, but since the ambassador was chuckling to himself, McCoy kept going. "Gonna have to put another notch in your belt there, Spock, or else we'll all be swimming in it."

"You are correct in your description of my supposed 'ego,' Doctor, as it does not exist. Emotion is required for such a thing." Spock must have realized that the ambassador truly did not mind their banter, because he continued with his logical retort. "Also, although I am in fact not wearing a belt, I do not believe it would serve any useful purpose to adorn one in order to keep hold on something that does not have any physical form. The fact that an ego as an entity does not bear any physical weight or density also prevents one from swimming in it. I feel I must apologize for needing to inform you of these facts."

As the trio reached the ambassador's quarters, Spock turned to McCoy. At the sight of the doctor's expression, Spock raised an eyebrow. "It appears that I must also remind you, Doctor, that as I am half human I am not completely unfamiliar with the concepts of your Earth humor." As the words sunk in, McCoy slowly grinned, but not before rolling his eyes again.

Satisfied with McCoy's reaction, Spock turned to the ambassador to bid a temporary farewell, only to pause as he took in the alien's expression.

The ambassador was no longer smiling. A look akin to shock adorned his features, and he was staring at Spock as if seeing him in a new light.

"Half human, you say?" the Telorian said with a sense of disbelief. "You are… not fully Vulcan?"

Spock straightened only slightly, but responded. "I am not. My father, Sarek, is Vulcan. My mother was human."

The ambassador pursed his scaly lips together. The friendly air about him earlier no longer appeared present. "I see."

McCoy's eyes narrowed slightly. "Something wrong?"

"No, Doctor. Forgive me," the ambassador said, although he did not sound very sincere at all. His eyes did not leave Spock for a moment. "I am simply… surprised. I would have thought that an alliance as vast and powerful as the United Federation of Planets would be above employing half-breeds into its service." Without another word, the Telorian turned and entered his quarters, letting the door slide firmly shut behind him.

McCoy stared blankly at the closed door, suddenly unable to speak. What the hell had just happened?

Spock was standing stiff at his side, his expression unreadable. For long seconds neither man moved or spoke. Finally, Spock turned his head slightly away from the door and McCoy lightly cleared his throat.

"What the hell crawled up _his_ ass and died?" he muttered bitterly.

"Doctor, I suggest we return to our duties," Spock uttered quickly, turning and swiftly starting toward the turbolift. "We must deliver the ambassador to the peace talks on Sorgus III in a timely manner, and I believe Jim is awaiting your return in sickbay."

"Spock!" McCoy called, hurrying after the commander and grabbing hold of his arm to stop him. "You're seriously not just gonna stand there and let him–"

"He is an ambassador and will be treated as such," Spock quickly interrupted, looking anywhere except at McCoy, but making no move to remove his arm from the human's grip. "Also, I believe the phrase is, 'sticks and stones,' Doctor."

McCoy let his grip slip from the half-Vulcan's arm, lowering his gaze slightly as Spock neared the lift. As Spock entered it, the doctor turned to scowl briefly at the ambassador's door in distaste before following the commander and leaving the deck.

* * *

As it turned out, Telorians were a rather pretentious species who prided themselves on maintaining pure bloodlines among their population. It was a pride-based and widely accepted idea among them, so much so that the Telorians obviously expected it to extend out to other worlds aside from theirs – so much so that the mere idea of mixing blood among races, let along species, was completely repulsive to them.

It made for one of the longest two-day missions the _Enterprise_ had ever faced.

The Telorian ambassador himself was not onboard the ship the entire time – the majority of his time was spent down on Sorgus III for the peace talks. But whenever he was onboard, whether being given an official tour or simply gliding through an observation deck, an inevitable space of awkward silence was sure to follow behind him – particularly when Spock was in the same space as him.

The ambassador had apparently made it his goal to somehow subtly insult the half-Vulcan whenever he was within earshot. A cleverly disguised crack at Spock's heritage here, a haughty sniff and a curled lip there… but never anything that would officially warrant as abuse or an attack. And amidst it all, the crew wasn't quite sure how to react to it. Spock gave no outward reaction to the verbal jabs, and with the sincere fear of somehow violating regulation or overstepping boundaries should they speak up looming overhead, the crew took to following Spock's example and kept to their work. While they could only offer sympathetic glances over shoulders (as well as distasteful glares to the ambassador's unknowing back), they seemed to have come to the same conclusion as their acting captain: nothing could be done until the mission was over.

By the end of the mission's first day, Spock found he was beginning to understand the human concept of something "dragging on forever." The ambassador's continuing comments, while shallow and predictable, were wearing thin on his usually vast patience. He gave silent thanks that the Telorian was residing on Sorgus III for the night rather than on the _Enterprise_ – it gave everyone a sense of temporary peace. Granted, the ambassador would simply return later for the return trip to Telor, but the thought that it was simply another step closer to finishing the mission was rather welcome in Spock's mind. And while he lacked control when it came to the ambassador's actions and words, there was one thing he knew he could do effortlessly – a goal Spock was reminded of every time he paid rather discreet visits to one particular child in sickbay.

He would do his best to keep that Telorian away from Jim. That Spock promised to himself.

* * *

The ambassador's beaming back down to Telor could not have come sooner. In fact, it had come sooner than originally anticipated – not that Sulu's tactful (and rather unauthorized) shift from Warp 2 to Warp 4 had anything to do with it.

The first thing that Spock noticed when he entered the transporter room was that Jim was present. The half-Vulcan stiffened in temporary surprise – he had admittedly overlooked the fact that Doctor McCoy had planned to show Jim the transporter room earlier in the day in order to miss seeing the ambassador before he left. The _Enterprise_'s premature arrival at the planet had evidently blown the plan.

McCoy looked up in surprise as Spock and the ambassador entered, clearly not expecting the intrusion. He looked down at Jim, who was still enraptured with what the ensign at the transporter controls was showing him; when McCoy looked back up at Spock, his expression was one akin to apologetic helplessness. Spock spared a short nod of understanding, illogically eager to see the ambassador leave the ship and leave it soon. As the Telorian marched primly onto the transporter pad Jim turned to address McCoy, finally noticing who else was now in the room. A bright smile broke out on the boy's face and he waved at Spock. The corners of the half-Vulcan's lips twitched at the sight and he nodded in return.

When Jim turned back Spock schooled his expression, ready to deal with the ambassador one final time.

"It is time to return you to your home planet, Ambassador," Spock said with a practiced calm tone. Out of the corner of his vision he saw McCoy beginning to quietly coax Jim out of the room. "It has been an honor to serve you."

The Telorian's eyes bore holes into Spock. "Indeed, half-blood." The sheer contempt in his gaze was unmistakable.

Having satisfied the need for proper protocol, Spock turned to the transporter operator. "Prepare to beam him down."

But the ambassador was evidently not entirely finished with him. "As my people and I are not a part of your Federation and are therefore not bound by its rules or customs, let me say something to you, _Commander._" The last word was uttered with a hiss. "You may hold station on this starship, but in my eyes and the eyes of my people you are _nothing_. Your parents may have been pure and untainted, but you are neither. There is no true place for you in this universe, half-breed, and I hope that one day your superiors realize that."

The ensuing silence in the room was thick. Spock was staring steadily at the base of the platform, steadily maintaining his emotional control bit by bit. The ambassador's words were not so different from those of his peers when he was a child. But this instance was different – he would not allow himself to break.

The ambassador turned to the openly-gaping ensign. "Send me down. I wish to leave this place."

"No!"

All eyes turned in the direction of the tiny voice. Spock inwardly started, previously unaware that Jim was still in the room. At the edge of the doorway McCoy was staring, unmoving as Jim pulled away from him and approached the platform.

"You're a meanie!" Jim accused firmly, looking quite serious despite his age. This was the first time anyone had seen the child any sort of angry. "Spock's not bad, you are! Spock is nice and… and… and he's better than you!" He seemed to falter slightly in his speech, as if unused to the feeling he was currently expressing. "Y-you're mean and… and ugly, and I don't like you!"

Something warm clenched in Spock's abdomen and he felt a soft rush of blood to his cheeks. It was an illogical feeling, but Spock could not help but be lightly touched that Jim – his friend – would still jump to his personal defense, even if he was four years old.

And of course, the utterly flabbergasted expression on the Telorian's face certainly didn't add to his amusement.

Spock glanced back to McCoy to see the doctor struggling to hold in a laugh. The ensign at the control panel smiled in satisfied approval as he quickly finished the preparations for beaming, apparently happy to be able to aid in the "last laugh."

All mirth was quickly lost when the ambassador suddenly stepped down off the transporter pad and swiftly delivered a loose backhanded slap to Jim's cheek.

At the child's yelp, Spock felt his control snap.

The next few seconds were a blur. The Telorian ambassador was pinned to the wall by an unforgiving Vulcan hand at his throat before he had even realized it. McCoy rushed forward to a seemingly stunned Jim, gathering the boy in his arms and quickly leaving the room.

"What… What is the meaning of this, you filthy–"

"_Be silent._" Spock's voice was low and heated. "You know not what you have done."

The ambassador scoffed weakly against the commander's hold. "I know an undisciplined child when I see one. I was merely–"

Spock squeezed harder, cutting the alien off. "I did not demand your excuses. If any lasting harm comes to the captain, be assured that you will pay."

"T-the captain?" the ambassador choked out, golden eyes widening.

"You deserve no explanation," Spock spat with finality. He shoved the ambassador back onto the platform just as two armed security guards entered.

Without another look back, Spock turned and began to leave. "Get him off this ship, Ensign."

"Yes, sir," the man at the control panel responded, a steady glare leveled at the shaken Telorian.

The doors slid securely shut behind him and Spock was gone.

* * *

Spock sped steadily through sickbay until he found where Jim had been taken. Privacy curtains had been drawn around one bed near the opposite wall; McCoy suddenly emerged from behind them and moved quickly to his office, a determined look on his face. Spock quickened his pace as he approached, pausing briefly in front of one of the curtains before carefully slipping behind it.

Jim looked to be in some sort of shock. His eyes were widened as if in surprise, but focused primarily downwards. To Spock, it appeared that the child was having a delayed reaction. With an odd feeling emanating from his stomach, the half-Vulcan realized that at this age, Jim had obviously never been struck before.

He crouched in front of the bed, attempting to catch the boy's eyes. "Jim?"

The child continued to look lost, as if unsure of something. Spock's eyes narrowed at the sight of the bruise beginning to form on Jim's face. He cautiously reached out and carefully touched his fingertips against it, willing the blue eyes to look at him.

"Jim?"

Jim looked at him.

It was as if a dam broke. A light hiccup bubbled from Jim's throat, followed by another, and then tears were suddenly forming in the boy's eyes. In a matter of seconds Jim was quietly sobbing, tears streaming silently down his face and his breath coming in little gasps of air. He reached out his tiny hands toward Spock, and with only the barest of hesitations Spock leaned forward and put his hands around the boy's back. Jim clung to the half-Vulcan like a lifeline, burying his small face into Spock's shoulder as he cried quietly.

Spock kept still, being sure to keep his recent thoughts of the ambassador out of his mind. The last thing he needed was to project more negative thoughts onto Jim's person. He continued to hold the child lightly, rocking slightly back and forth and gently enveloping his arms more solidly around the small form. He stayed silent, not knowing what to say, but letting soothing thoughts brush over Jim's mind. As his shoulder became damp with the child's tears, Spock came to another realization: never before had he seen Jim cry.

The curtain behind Jim opened and McCoy was suddenly standing there, a hypospray in his hand. He paused abruptly at the sight before him, eyes swiftly meeting Spock's. The half-Vulcan held the gaze steadily, now unwilling to relinquish his hold on Jim even in the doctor's sight. Against him, Jim hiccupped loudly and huddled closer to his body. Spock tightened his grip.

A small grin worked its way onto McCoy's face. Lowering the hypospray, he took one more look at the pair in front of him before quietly backing out and closing the curtain.

Jim's hiccups slowly quieted until they became only tiny whimpers. His breathing eventually became more steady, and as his small body started to sag in his grip, Spock could tell that Jim was near sleep.

Only then did McCoy reenter the privacy curtain.

"He falling asleep?" the man whispered. Spock nodded. "Good. For a minute I was afraid I'd have to use a light sedative. Poor thing looked like he was going into some kind of shock. I couldn't think of any other way to calm him down, since he didn't seem to hear a word I was saying."

Spock only nodded.

McCoy's eyes hardened. "You take care of that scaly son of a bitch?"

"He would be off the ship at this point. I am sure he will not wish to return."

The doctor snorted. "Good riddance."

"Indeed."

For minutes longer the two stayed silent, both simply contented to watch the toddler slumber with an increasingly calm look to his features. Finally McCoy sighed softly.

"Listen, ah… Why don't you take him to bed and I'll take care of all this." He gestured to the curtains around them.

"That would be agreeable." Spock slowly stood, careful not to jar the precious load in his arms. McCoy eyed the two curiously, a fond smile growing on his face. As the half-Vulcan began to leave, he spoke up.

"Spock." The commander turned to him. "I won't tell a soul." _Although I probably don't need to at this point, you big pointy-eared softy._

The half-Vulcan paused briefly before nodding, a barely visible blush of light green tinting his skin. "Thank you, Doctor." McCoy stifled a chuckle and let Spock leave.

Spock carried Jim to the recovery room that was now serving as his temporary bedroom. He pulled back the covers of the bed and set the boy down slowly.

Jim stirred. "Spock?"

"Hush, little one," Spock said softly, pulling the blankets over the small form. "Everything is all right now. Sleep."

Jim yawned lightly before murmuring, "Is the bad man gone?"

Spock stilled momentarily. "Yes, Jim, the bad man is gone. He will not hurt you anymore." His eyes traced the bruise on Jim's cheek, quietly contemplating before he leaned in to press a small kiss to the child's forehead. As he started to pull away Jim made a quiet noise of protest. Tiny hands reached up to grab at the sides of Spock's head and pulled him back down. The half-Vulcan's eyes shut as the boy pressed a sloppy kiss to his own forehead.

As Jim pulled away, he said with an insisting tone that only children could possess, "He hurt you, too."

Spock could find no proper words to respond with, nor anything that he could use to properly express his sentiments towards Jim's earlier selfless defense of him. Instead he simply nodded before stepping back and taking a seat in the chair beside the bed. As the child slowly drifted off again, he reached out and took hold of the half-Vulcan's sleeve, cooing lightly when his hand was eventually taken up by a larger one.

Jim slept, and Spock watched on.


	5. The Art of Play

**Title:** What We Remember Forever

**Fandom:** _Star Trek (XI)_

**Rating:** PG

**Pairing:** Kirk/Spock (friendship)

**Warnings:** OOC-ness on Spock's part (although by default I'm trying to write him as in-character as I possibly can, so we'll just see how that turns out), references to past emotional child neglect, and – as per usual – MASSIVE FLUFF.

**Notes:** Hey guys! Guess what time it is? SCOTTY TIME! Yaaaaay, Scotty time! :D

(In case it isn't clear yet, this chapter is Scotty-centric. XD)

Enjoy…!

* * *

_**The Art of Play**_

(in which games are played)

"_We don't stop playing because we grow old; we grow old because we stop playing."_ –George Bernard Shaw (1856 - 1950)

* * *

Lieutenant Cobine cast another glance over his shoulder, this time more than a little nervous.

His shift had started only twenty minutes prior, and his commanding officer had already passed by his station three times, looking like a determined man on a mission. Cobine was sure he hadn't done anything wrong – how could he have, given the fact he'd barely done _anything_ yet? But he couldn't shake the growing sense of dread he was feeling: whatever (or whoever) it was that had the lieutenant commander looking as serious as he was currently was apparently going to get it. Cobine released a breath and returned his attention back to his station, willing the sense of nervousness down as he got back to work.

On the fourth pass around, he couldn't take it anymore.

"Lieutenant Commander. Sir." Cobine winced when his voice cracked just slightly. "May I ask what it is that's troubling you?"

Scotty seemed to snap out of his concentrated stupor, blinking up at the lieutenant. "What's that?"

Cobine sighed. "You seem to have something on your mind, sir, and I was wondering if there was something wrong."

"Oh, no, no, everythin' is ship-shape, Lieutenant," Scotty quickly assured. "As you were." The man seemed to give the area near Cobine's work station a once-over before slowly sauntering off. Cobine raised an eyebrow before returning to his work, content with his higher-up's words.

Not five minutes later Scotty was circling back, discreetly eyeing the area as if it had something to hide.

Cobine all but threw his PADD down onto the surface of his desk.

"Mister Scott, with all due respect, if I've done something wrong would you please just tell me?"

The lieutenant commander blinked, looking at Cobine as if he'd grown a second head. "I'm sorry?"

Cobine felt his cheeks flush, realizing that he was probably starting to make a scene. "It's just… I mean, this is the fourth time you've walked by my station, sir, and you're looking around as if you're expecting to find something wrong. So if there's something I've been doing that needs to be corrected, I'd really appreciate it if you'd just _tell_ me rather than circle around watching me like a hawk."

Scotty nodded, seeming to understand. "Relax, laddie, you've done nothin' wrong." He stepped closer to one of the consoles by Cobine's area, crossing his arms. If he didn't know any better, he'd say the Scotsman was trying to appear casual. "I suppose there _is_ a little somethin' amiss, but don't you worry about that. In fact, I have a feelin' I'm about to resolve the matter right," Scotty places a hand on top of the console, "about…" he slowly bends to one knee, "_now!_"

When Scotty suddenly ducked underneath the console, a high-pitched squeal erupted from under it. From beneath the piece of equipment Cobine could hear the Scotsman's voice ring out, saying, "A-_ha!_ Found you, you wee little scamp!"

Scotty righted himself, a giggling Jim Kirk squirming in his arms. Cobine blinked in disbelief.

"You're gettin' really good at this, aren't you?" Scotty was saying to the toddler. "Thirty minutes this time! Only four years old and you've got the patience of a saint!" He set Jim down, ruffling the blonde hair as he turned to Cobine. "Can you believe he's never played a game of hide-and-seek before? The kid's a natural, he is!"

Cobine could only nod, more than slightly relieved that _this_ was what the lieutenant commander's mood had been about before. Around him, other engineers slowed or stopped in their actions as they took in the sight of the chief engineer and their young captain. It wasn't often that Jim got to come down to the engineering deck, and the crewmembers who were stationed on it considered it a treat whenever the kid happened to be brought by. Cobine found that even he wasn't immune to the child's innocent charms, and smiled fondly at the sight in front of him.

Jim tugged on the hem of Scotty's tunic. "You hide now, Mister Scotty!"

"Alright, lad, alright," Scotty assured, taking the boy's hand and squeezing gently. "But no peeking, alright? You have to promise!"

The boy nodded eagerly.

"Good boy." Scotty bent and kissed the top of Jim's head. "Now go ahead and count." Jim smiled and turned towards the console he had been hiding under before, covering his eyes with his tiny hands. As he slowly began to count, Scotty began to creep off.

Cobine couldn't help but speak up. "Sir, is this really proper?"

Scotty paused in his step, looking slightly impatient and very eager to get going. "What? It's just a harmless game of hide-and-seek."

"But… in Engineering of all places? And aren't you on duty, sir?"

The chief engineer rolled his eyes, his expression one of a knowing child caught doing wrong. "It's not like I'm givin' him free reign of the deck," he retorted, his voice a whisper, as if he was already attempting to hide from Jim. "Besides, Keenser's stationed by the entryway into the more complex levels, so the wee lad's not in any danger of gettin' near any dangerous equipment. And as for bein' on duty…" He turned a fond eye to the child's back, shrugging. "Well, I _am_ executin' the current will of the captain, aren't I?"

Cobine ducked his head to hide his smile. "I meant no disrespect, sir."

Before Scotty could say anything further, both men heard Jim reach the number eight. After quickly pulling himself together and muttering a quick "as you were" to Cobine, Scotty all but sprinted away to find a hiding place, leaving a trail of amused (as well as some slightly confused) engineers behind him.

Jim finished counting, and with a parting smile to the lieutenant he happily walked off in search of the Scotsman.

Cobine shook his head in warm exasperation, sharing a smile with a passing ensign when their eyes happened to lock. Without another thought, the lieutenant turned to his station once again and resumed his work.

* * *

It was near the end of Beta shift that Janice Rand was sent to check up on the captain. According to Doctor McCoy, Jim had been in Engineering with Mister Scott for most of the afternoon.

She could only wonder what kind of mayhem the two were wreaking together.

As she made her way down the corridor, she heard the doors to the main engineering section open. A series of quick footfalls began to echo soon after, growing louder with each passing second. A figure suddenly rounded the corner and headed straight for her. Rand instinctively backed into the wall to make a clear path, only to realize who it was that was running by her.

"Mister Scott?" she called, a laugh working its way into her voice as she took in the sight properly. The chief engineer jogged swiftly by her, Jim Kirk perched securely upon his shoulders. He didn't immediately respond to her presence – he was apparently too busy making what Rand interpreted as "starship noises" – although Jim called out to her and waved cheerfully as they passed.

As Scotty neared the turbolift at the end of the hall, Rand tried again. "What's the rush, sir?"

"Sorry, can't talk now!" the Scotsman finally called back. "If the captain's goin' to save the day, he needs to get to the bridge! Isn't that right, Captain?" Jim laughed in response.

"Faster, Mister Scotty!"

"I'm givin' it all I've got, Captain!" Scotty cried, pretending to wheeze. "This starship's a bit of a slowpoke, I'm afraid."

Scotty finally reached the turbolift and recommenced his engine noises, and Rand found herself struggling to support herself against the corridor wall, giggling uncontrollably. Adult or child, it seemed Jim Kirk would be the death of her.

When the lift doors opened to reveal the bridge, Scotty made his entrance.

"Right, nobody panic!" he shouted with overdone conviction. "Everyone take a breather – I've got just the man for the job!" He "flew" Jim over to the currently vacant captain's chair, much to the visible amusement of most of the bridge crew. Scotty lifted the toddler off his shoulders and placed him into the seat, exerting an air of satisfaction and completion as he did so.

At the helm, Chekov and Sulu exchanged smiles. Uhura bit down on her bottom lip to keep from grinning like an outright fool at the sight. Spock briefly looked up from the scanner he was hovering over in recognition before looking back down. (But if anyone looked, they might have seen the gentle quirking at the corners of the half-Vulcan's mouth, or perhaps the light burst of warmth in his eyes.)

"Hello, Keptin," Chekov greeted, offering a good-natured salute before he could stop himself. "Any orders, sir?"

Jim looked up to Scotty, as if seeking permission for something. Scotty leaned over and whispered something into the child's ear, ruffling Jim's hair as he pulled away and made an encouraging "go on" motion with his hand.

The toddler looked somewhat shyly over at Sulu before saying, "Ahead, Mister Sulu. Warp factor two!"

Behind them all, Uhura had to duck her head to keep from letting out a particularly aggressive giggle.

Sulu smiled at Jim's "order," but forced himself to turn to Spock – an increase in speed could only be authorized by the actual commanding officer. "Sir?"

Without looking up, Spock answered calmly, "I believe the captain has just given you your orders, Mister Sulu."

It was too much: Uhura snorted into her arm as quietly as she could while the rest of her body shook in silent laughter. Scotty and Chekov grinned like twin loons.

Sulu looked back at Jim and smiled. "Aye, sir. Warp factor two."

The newly-lightened mood on the bridge lasted into the rest of the day, even well after Jim quietly fell asleep in the captain's chair and McCoy was called up to take him down to sickbay to nap.


	6. Bath Time

**Title:** What We Remember Forever

**Fandom:** _Star Trek (XI)_

**Rating:** PG

**Pairing:** Kirk/Spock (friendship)

**Warnings:** OOC-ness on Spock's part (although by default I'm trying to write him as in-character as I possibly can, so we'll just see how that turns out), references to past emotional child neglect, and – as per usual – MASSIVE FLUFF.

**Notes:** I'm going through a bit of a hell week, guys. I'm really anxious and a little scared about the next couple of days, and while I haven't had a lot of free time, I really wanted to write another chapter of this. Not only for you guys, but as a way to cheer me up. I think I really need it right now. (Also, this was kind of rushed as a result, so apologies for anything in advance.)

This chapter is dedicated to YourDarkMistress, who asked for a chapter where someone gives little Jim a bath. :D

Enjoy, everyone.

* * *

_**Bath Time**_

(in which Jim, and a couple of others, take a bath)

"_There must be quite a few things that a hot bath won't cure, but I don't know many of them."_ –Sylvia Plath (1932 - 1963)

* * *

Spock knew it was technically impossible for one's shift to move any faster or slower than it was regularly scheduled to do. Yet as he stepped into the turbolift promptly after Beta shift had ended, Spock could not help but feel as though the present moment had taken much to long of a time to reach.

The half-Vulcan headed straight for sickbay rather than to the mess for his regular evening meal. Having been working through two shifts so far in the day, Spock had not had the opportunity to see the young Jim. As first officer, it was his duty to watch over the captain and maintain a vigilant report on his status. It was only natural that he should decide to visit Jim first before anything else.

Really, that was all.

As he strode through the sickbay doors and made his way towards Jim's temporary quarters, the many medical personnel who noticed him quickly looked away in order to hide their smiles. By now, the reason for Spock's predictable visits to sickbay was well-known, particularly among the ship's doctors and nurses. No one was willing to do anything that might put a stop to it all, so silence was kept and those who knew simply looked the other way.

When Spock entered Jim's room, he found it to be empty. Mildly puzzled, he turned and went to McCoy's office, only to find that it, too, was empty. He raised an eyebrow; it was unlike the doctor to take Jim somewhere on the ship without notifying someone beforehand, especially at such a relatively late hour.

He slowly left McCoy's office in thought just as Nurse Chapel passed by. She looked at him only briefly before smiling knowingly.

"Mister Spock," she said gently to grab his attention. "This way."

Chapel led him along a corridor past a line of exam rooms. Near the end, she stopped by a door and merely gestured to it before smiling sweetly and walking off, secretly biting her lip in order to keep a giggle from leaking out.

A chorus of sound was coming from behind the door. Curious, Spock leaned in closer. The sound of Jim's unmistakable laughter rang through, accompanied by more from a lower, baritone voice, as well as the sounds of splashing.

Spock pressed the comm unit by the door to announce his presence. The majority of the noise quickly stopped, save for the occasional sound of Jim's mirth. After a few short seconds, the door slid open, revealing a very pleased-looking, very soaked Doctor McCoy.

"Hey there, Spock!" McCoy greeted, a smile on his face. "How are ya?"

For a mere second Spock only stared. He couldn't help but be a little surprised – he had never seen the doctor so… _happy_ before. The man's natural Southern drawl leaked out some when he spoke, something Spock noted as happening only when McCoy was either very upset or distressed, or, apparently, very content.

"I am well," Spock answered, eyeing the rather wet and slightly soapy state of the doctor. "I was merely curious as to the whereabouts and status of the captain."

McCoy cocked an eyebrow before nodding. "'Course you were, Spock. We're both off duty, you know, so you can cut all of the formalities." He jerked his head in the direction behind him, flinging droplets of water off his hair in the process. "I was just giving Jim a bath."

Spock's own eyebrow went up. "I was not aware that you were in possession of a reservoir for such a purpose."

"Well, it's a therapy tub," McCoy explained. "Only one on the ship. Even with a ship this size the crew only gets so much access to running water at a time, unless we're docked or on leave. That's why everyone's gotta settle for sonic showers instead of a good old fashioned water shower – otherwise the _Enterprise_ would run dry every week. But sickbay's allotted at least one bathing tub for medical purposes. Half the time we don't even need to use it, but you never know, especially with this crew." He looked back to where Jim could still be heard giggling. "Anyway, I didn't wanna subject the kid to those sonic showers; there's no fun in 'em. A nice old fashioned bath, though – _that's_ the proper way to bathe a child if you ask me."

Spock only nodded, oddly amused at the doctor's enthusiasm.

Delivering a light smack to the half-Vulcan's arm, McCoy stepped back. "Why don't you come in and see for yourself?"

As they stepped further into the room and the bathtub came into view, Spock felt his lips quirk at the sight that presented itself. Jim was seated contentedly inside it, water barely up to his waist, surrounded by what looked like masses of pink, foamy bubbles. Light puddles of water were scattered around the base of the tub, no doubt the result of the splashing Spock had heard earlier.

Jim looked up when they came in, smiling brightly.

"Hi, Bones!" he greeted. "Look, Spock, bubbles!"

Spock eyed the child warmly. "I see, Jim."

Content that he had shared the source of his fun, Jim picked up a sponge floating in the water and began playing with it. Spock eyed the general contents of the bath with interest, not going unnoticed by McCoy.

"It's a bubble bath, Spock," he said. "Just another one of those human indulgences of ours."

"I am familiar with the practice, Doctor," Spock responded. McCoy snorted a short laugh before walking over to the tub. "Another ten minutes, kiddo, then we have to take you out."

Jim seemed downtrodden at the thought of getting out of the bath. "No, Bones, please?"

McCoy wasn't deterred, reaching out to ruffle the boy's bubbly, wet hair. "You'll get all wrinkly, sport, and you don't want that, do ya? Don't worry, afterwards we'll go down and have ourselves a nice dinner, and then if you want, Miss Uhura can come up later and read you a story. That sound okay?"

The boy smiled and nodded, seemingly content with the alternatives McCoy had offered.

The comm on the wall suddenly whistled. McCoy looked over to see that is was Christine calling.

_Perfect_, he thought, discreetly eying the half-Vulcan next to him.

"Listen, Spock, I gotta take care of something," McCoy said, taking a towel off of a nearby counter and drying his hands with it. "Would you watch Jim for a minute 'till I get back?"

Spock nodded. "Of course, Doctor."

With another smile and a wave to Jim, McCoy was gone.

Spock took to sitting on a short stool near the tub, continuing to watch as Jim played with the sponge as if it were a ship. Growing up on Vulcan, Spock had never had the opportunity to take a water bath. Despite the sheer number of Vulcans that had been living on it, water had been scarce on his planet, and sonic showers were the main means of bathing among his people. Even after relocating to Earth, Spock had grown so accustomed to the regular bathing habits of his upbringing that he had never indulged in his earlier curiosity of bathing in water. He remembered his mother briefly mentioning bubble baths at one point in time – according to her they were one of the most relaxing activities imaginable. Briefly, Spock wondered what it had been like for her then, knowing that as long as she was on Vulcan she could not indulge herself in such a method of relaxation again.

Unable to prevent his curiosity any longer, Spock reached over and dipped his fingers into the bathwater. The light pressure around his skin from the water was actually quite soothing, and while the temperature was rather lukewarm to him, Spock wouldn't doubt that it was the perfect amount of warmth for Jim.

The half-Vulcan was jerked out of his thoughts when a generous amount of water was splashed over his hand and arm. On impulse he quickly removed his hand from the bath, brown eyes darting up to look at Jim, who was giggling to himself and looking shyly mischievous.

For a short moment Spock was unsure what to do. In simple honesty the splash had surprised him, as well as the sudden change in temperature on his hand and arm. Jim's smile slowly dwindled as the seconds ticked by, suddenly looking rather unsure of himself. Mentally shaking himself out of his slight stupor, Spock quietly berated himself for his inaction. The last thing he wanted to ever do was make Jim uncomfortable.

With only a minute, illogical sense of hesitancy, Spock reached back into the bath and splashed Jim gently across his shoulder.

Jim ducked his head in response, but when he looked back up his smile was brighter than ever. With a laugh he splashed the half-Vulcan back, the water breaching the tub and hitting the tip of Spock's knee. Spock struck back, splashing the area behind Jim's head, and quickly the situation was deteriorating into an all-out splash war.

Spock let out an exhale that, had McCoy been present to judge, would have sounded suspiciously like laughter.

When the commander eventually left sickbay, mysteriously drenched from head to foot, no one said a word.


	7. Gifts of Childhood

**Title:** What We Remember Forever

**Fandom:** _Star Trek (XI)_

**Rating:** PG

**Pairing:** Kirk/Spock (friendship)

**Warnings:** OOC-ness on Spock's part (although by default I'm trying to write him as in-character as I possibly can, so we'll just see how that turns out), references to past emotional child neglect, and – as per usual – MASSIVE FLUFF.

**Notes:** I'm back! Sorry to keep you guys waiting. XD Ever since school's been out I've been using my spare time to prep for an anime convention that ended last week, so I've kind of been out of writing lately.

First off, I'd like to give my heartfelt thanks to each and every person who has read and reviewed any and all of my stories, including this one. Although I may not personally thank you guys for your praises and criticisms, please know that you all are one of the reasons I love writing. I write mainly for myself, but just knowing that my work is being looked at and enjoyed by people around the world gives me a huge boost of confidence. You guys are the best and I thank you. :D

Secondly, it may be another short while until the next chapter of WWRF is posted. There's a longer prompt-fic that I REALLY want to get done, and that's what I'll be focusing on until it's all finished. I began it months ago and I'm feeling guiltier each day that it goes incomplete because the girl whose initial idea it was has been waiting for so long to read it. So yeah, just be prepared for that.

…Oh, and also: all suggestions for chapter topics will eventually be honored! I have a list of stuff that everyone has suggested, and I'm steadily going down it. However, I'm still writing the chapters as the ideas come to me, so some prompts may take a bit longer than others. In the end, though, everyone wins!

Okay, enough of my overly-sensitive jargon. XD This chapter is dedicated to KeLsE, who wanted to see more interaction between Jim and Chekov. Cuteness abounds, muahaha! XD Enjoy!

(P.S. Holy crap, you guys, over 100 reviews! I'm so flattered! :D You guys rock!)

* * *

_**Gifts of Childhood**_

(in which Jim and Chekov are ridiculously cute)

"_It's not how much we give but how much love we put into giving."_ –Mother Teresa (1910 - 1997)

* * *

Four days was apparently all it took for the crew to become completely used to the presence of a child on the bridge. As sweetly charming as the kid had grown to be, Jim was still rather quiet and was often quite content to linger around and watch the officers while they worked. As a result of this the bridge crew found that, particularly on their busier shifts, they could each afford to keep busy at their stations without feeling the need to constantly look over their shoulders to keep tabs on Jim; chances were that the boy would be hovering near any particular crewmember at any given time, who would, in turn, keep an eye on Jim as he kept an eye on them.

The "particular crewmember" of the day happened to be Spock, Chekov noticed, not that _that_ was anything new. He smiled to himself, occasionally glancing over his shoulder to catch a glimpse of Jim hovering near the science station, now-and-then reaching up to grasp loosely at Spock's pant leg as if to grab his attention. It was one of those significantly busy shifts that day, and the acting captain appeared to be doing a fine job of keeping Jim busy while maintaining progress on his work. At least to Chekov it did.

The Russian turned back to his station, monitoring the _Enterprise_'s latest instructed course. While it certainly wasn't the hardest work to be done, it was tedious and definitely time-consuming. After a moment he stood up and crossed over to the scanner near the science station with the intention of double-checking a minor radiation cloud near the ship's presented path. Instead, Chekov found his attention drawn to an unexpected conversation.

"Be still, little one, I must work."

At the resulting soft whine of protest, Chekov stopped himself from turning fully to see what the quiet commotion was, instead tilting his head just enough to watch discreetly from the corner of his vision.

"Jim, I cannot play with you now. I need to perform my duties here." In response the child whined again, burying his face in the material covering Spock's leg. The half-Vulcan spoke again, his voice was low and obviously only meant for the toddler currently attached to him. "Would you like Doctor McCoy to come and take you to eat lunch?" Jim didn't respond, and Spock seemed to sigh quietly. "I am unable to entertain you at this time. If you cannot find a way to occupy yourself presently, then Doctor McCoy may have to come and retrieve you." He paused before threading two fingers through the boy's hair. "…I am sorry, Jim."

Chekov bit the inside of his cheek. He didn't like the sight of Jim being so sad, nor of Spock's subtle sorrow at having to deny him. He knew it probably wasn't any of his business, but the ensign couldn't help but feel like he had to do something, especially considering he was most likely the only person on the bridge who could see just what was happening.

Making his decision, Chekov stepped away from the scanner and closer to the two at the science station.

"Excuse me, sir," he said quietly, so not to attract any other attention. Spock looked up and straightened, but his hand didn't leave Jim's hair.

"Ensign?"

Chekov swallowed lightly. "Sir, if I may," he started, only a little nervous now that he had Spock's attention, "I vould not be adwerse to looking after ze Keptin."

Spock stared at Chekov a moment longer, as if giving the navigator a silent once-over, before leaning down to address Jim.

"Jim, would you like to play with Ensign Chekov?" he asked gently. "I believe he would like to spend time with you." Still clinging to Spock's pant leg, Jim turned to look up at Chekov. Although it was clear he would rather remain with Spock, the toddler seemed to brighten with recognition at the sight of the navigator.

Chekov smiled. "Please, Jim? Ve can haff lots of fun, yes?" He held out his hand in invitation, and with only a small amount of hesitation and reluctance Jim reached out and took it. Spock silently shined in approval, carefully disentangling his fingers from Jim's hair.

"Goodbye, Jim," he whispered. "I will see you in due time after Alpha shift." Before Chekov began to lead him away, Jim reached a hand out to Spock, extending two small fingers and pressing them to the back of the half-Vulcan's hand. Chekov wasn't familiar with the gesture, but Spock's expression seemed to hold some satisfaction at the action. As Jim turned his attention back to Chekov, so did Spock.

"As you leave, inform Lieutenant Uhura to notify your replacement," Spock said evenly, shifting back into his regular commanding persona.

"Aye, sir."

By the time they were in the turbolift, Chekov realized he didn't quite know where he was taking Jim. He had really offered to watch the child on a whim, after all, but he supposed he could figure out something. While he didn't have any brothers or sisters of his own, Chekov was the youngest of a rather large group of cousins, so he knew a small thing or two about babysitting (or rather, being babysat). He'd think of something soon…

With a mental slap to himself Chekov suddenly remembered Spock's earlier words regarding McCoy taking Jim to eat lunch. Of course! Jim was probably getting hungry by now. Shaking his head lightly, the navigator pressed the button for the appropriate deck and the lift began to move.

There was a tug on his hand and Chekov looked down. Jim stared up at him, regarding him shyly before lifting both his arms up to the navigator.

"Up?"

Chekov smiled outright and bent down to pick the child up. He lifted Jim high above his head, earning a soft gasp of surprise, before bringing him down and balancing him on his hip. Jim ducked his head and giggled into Chekov's shoulder.

The remainder of the lift ride and the walk to the mess consisted mainly of Jim playing with Chekov's hair, pulling back and releasing the collection of curls and laughing as they bounced back to their original positions. When he reached an empty table, Chekov set Jim down in one of the nearby chairs and knelt down in front of him.

"Vhat vould you like to eat, Yasha?" he asked kindly.

"Um…" the boy mumbled, looking down at his hands in thought. "Peanut butter and jelly?"

Chekov grinned and ruffled Jim's hair. "A wery good choice. You stay here, yes? I vill be right back." He left the table and went over to the nearest replicator, turning his head and smiling at the sight of other crewmembers passing and greeting Jim as he waited. Chekov programmed in Jim's request along with a spontaneous order for apple slices, plus a small bowl of borsch for himself. He returned promptly, setting the tray of food down on the table.

"Here you are, Yasha," he said, setting the plate of apple slices and Jim's sandwich in front of the boy. As he sat down Chekov realized that Jim barely reached the top of the table in the chair he was sitting in. Without much thought he reached over and picked the boy up, setting him down in his lap.

"Prijatnogo appetita," Chekov said happily, moving Jim's plate in front of him and handing the boy the first cut of his sandwich before digging into his borsch.

The rest of the meal went by rather quietly, Jim enjoying his sandwich and Chekov eating his borsch, both sharing the apple slices. As Chekov was finishing, a thought struck him. He waited until Jim was done before lifting him off his lap and temporarily into the chair. Jim looked rather surprised at the sudden move and grabbed for Chekov's sleeve as he stood.

"Don't vorry, I'm not going far," the teen assured. "I'm getting something for you." He tapped the toddler on the nose, earning a short laugh, then made his way to the replicator again. Doctor McCoy would probably kill him for this, being the health nut he was when it came to Jim. Chekov picked up his order, as well as a small fork, and went back to Jim. Setting the plate on the table, the navigator picked Jim up and placed him back on his lap.

"Cake!" the child exclaimed when he recognized the treat.

Chekov smiled. "All for you, Yasha. Eat up!" He handed Jim the fork; it was only a little slice, and Chekov didn't think a small treat would do any harm. Jim took the fork and held it with relative ease, only slightly clumsy as he picked off a piece of the cake and brought it to his mouth. His enjoyment of the taste was obvious.

"I vill tell you a secret," Chekov found himself whispering as Jim took another bite. "Not many people know zis, but chocolate cake vas actually inwented in Russia. Many disagree, but do not let anybody tell you othervise, yes?"

Jim nodded. "What's Russia?"

"It is my country – vhere I am from. It is wery, wery big; ze best in ze vorld!" At Jim's laughter, Chekov smiled wider. "I do talk funny, huh?"

Jim seemed to sober, looking confused. "Nuh-uh," he said, shaking his head. "I understand you."

Chekov's smile softened as Jim turned to pick off another piece of the cake slice. Even as a child, Jim's sense of fairness shined through. The Russian pet the child's hair lightly just as Jim turned in his lap and held the forkful of cake up to him. Chekov raised an eyebrow, unsure of what Jim was doing until the child raised the fork again, higher this time so it was near Chekov's mouth. Biting back another smile, Chekov leaned forward and took the cake into his mouth. Jim's face lit up and he turned back to scoop up more cake, which he ate himself. His next forkful was lifted back up to Chekov, and the cycle continued – Jim ate a piece, then Chekov got one, then Jim again until the entire slice was gone.

Chekov picked Jim up off his lap for the final time, intent on putting their dishes away into the proper receptacle. Jim followed him, carrying the cake plate. While they had been having their dessert, Chekov had thought of something else to do.

He reached down to take Jim's hand. "Come, Yasha, I haff a surprise for you."

As they left the mess and started toward the turbolift, Jim turned to look up at him. "Mister Chekov? What's 'Yasha' mean?"

"Vell… it's you," Chekov started to explain, stopping in the hallway to crouch down in front of Jim. "It's a wersion of your name, like a nickname, yes? Your name is James, but your friends call you Jim. My name is Pavel, but my family and close friends calls me Pasha. Do you understand?" He waited until Jim nodded before he continued. "In Russia, your name vould be Yakov; your loved ones vould call you Yasha." Chekov watched as Jim absorbed the information, looking thoughtful.

"Does that mean… I can call you Pasha?" Jim suddenly asked, looking both shy and hopeful.

Chekov laughed and leaned into kiss Jim's forehead. "Only if I may still call you Yasha." He was promptly hugged around the neck. The teen wrapped his arms around the toddler and picked him up, walking the rest of the way to the turbolift. He let Jim push the buttons and soon they were on their way to Deck 6 and Chekov's quarters. When they reached the deck Chekov set Jim down and they had a quick race to see who could get to the door first.

"Close your eyes," Chekov gently instructed once they were inside. "I haff something for you." Jim covered his eyes with his hands and Chekov went to his set of drawers. He opened the bottom one and started to fish around the back of it. Even though he shared quarters with Sulu, he had never disclosed this particular secret of his before. It wasn't that he thought he'd get made fun of, it was just… actually, yes, he thought he might be teased a little. But it was also more of a personal matter he kept it hidden.

After a minute of searching, Chekov finally found what he was looking for underneath all of his clothing. He pulled it out and held it out in front of him, admiring it for a second before he turned and knelt in front of Jim.

"Open your eyes, Yasha," the teen prompted, holding the object up so Jim could clearly see it. Jim pulled his hands away from his eyes and gasped.

"A bunny!" the boy exclaimed excitedly. The stuffed rabbit was a faded white, obviously worn and loved but still relatively fluffy. The large, floppy ears fell and settled over the sides of a light pink ribbon around the rabbit's neck. "What's her name?"

Chekov smiled, not surprised that Jim was able to ascertain that the rabbit was a girl. "I call her Katja. She vas my friend vhen I vas a boy." He watched as Jim came forward and pet the rabbit's head before gently taking it from Chekov as the teen pushed it towards him. "Vhat about yours?"

Jim blinked in confusion. Chekov elaborated: "Vhat is yours called? Your animal?"

The boy looked down in apparent thought before somewhat excitedly responding, "Sammy has a kitty! His name is Patch."

Chekov slowly frowned, taking in the new information. Was Jim saying that he didn't have a stuffed animal of his own? Chekov had to search his brain a bit before he remembered that Jim had an older brother named Sam, whose own stuffed animal Jim could apparently recall clearly. He wasn't sure exactly what to make of it.

At Chekov's expression, Jim seemed to hunch in on himself a little. "Sammy shares," he said, as if to make his previous statement more acceptable.

"Zhat is good," Chekov quickly responded, wanting to get rid of the current mood that had begun to settle over them. "Is Patch a nice kitty?"

"Uh-huh," Jim replied, nodding. "Patch and Katja would be friends."

"I'm sure zhey vould." Chekov reached out to grab Katja's sides, making her dance in Jim's arms. "Katja vould like to be your friend, too. See?" Jim giggled as "Katja" hopped in front of him and hugged her tightly, cooing and burying his face in her soft fur. After cuddling her for a bit, Jim moved to hand Katja back. Chekov shook his head and gently pushed her back to Jim.

"Keep her, Yasha," he said kindly. "She is your friend now, yes?"

Jim's eyes absolutely lit up and he ran forward to tackle the Russian in a hug. Chekov laughed, wrapping the toddler up in his arms and holding him close as he was barraged with a stream of "thanks-yous."

For most of the afternoon the two played in Chekov's quarters, mostly with Katja. Eventually they both tired, and the end of their playtime – and later on, Sulu and McCoy – saw Chekov and Jim curled up together like puppies on the ensign's bed, Katja cuddled in between them, sleeping as soundly as newborn infants.

* * *

A/N: The phrase that Chekov says before eating is the Russian equivalent of "bon appétit" – at least according to my research. XD Also, I apologize if my understanding of Russian diminutives (as well as the Russian equivalent of "James") is flawed. I just really wanted to have Chekov call Jim something Russian in order to denote affection. :D If anything can be corrected, please don't hesitate to let me know!


	8. Soundly Safe

**Title:** What We Remember Forever

**Fandom:** _Star Trek (XI)_

**Rating:** PG

**Pairing:** Kirk/Spock (friendship)

**Warnings:** OOC-ness on Spock's part (although by default I'm trying to write him as in-character as I possibly can, so we'll just see how that turns out), references to past emotional child neglect, and – as per usual – MASSIVE FLUFF.

**Notes:** FINALLY! XD Right? Sorry for the wait again. But hey, I finally got that big fic up so I'm happy. Woo!

Anyway, I think I remember a couple people asking for another version of Uhura's observation in "Never Too Late," where Jim goes missing during a Klingon attack and ends up seeking refuge with Spock. So here we go: the same instance except from Bones' and Spock's point-of-views. I felt like I may have rushed this in some places, if not all. Also, there's more hurt!Bones than I had anticipated (ehehe), but hopefully it's still enjoyable.

Thanks for reading! I'll try and get the next bit up sooner, since I have it planned out in my head already. :D

* * *

_**Soundly Safe**_

(in which Klingons attack and Jim seeks comfort)

"_Oh, the comfort, the inexpressible comfort of feeling safe with a person, having neither to weigh thoughts nor measure words, but pouring them all out, just as they are, chaff and grain together, certain that a faithful hand will take and sift them, keep what is worth keeping, and with a breath of kindness blow the rest away."_ –Dinah Craik (1826 - 1887)

* * *

Jim jolted awake as his bed suddenly shook.

He blinked his eyes wearily, still somewhat asleep, and looked around his darkened room. Everything was still and quiet again, and after a short moment Jim lay back down on his pillow, clutching Katja closer to him.

A startled cry tore out of him when the entire room jerked around him, and suddenly the air was filled with wailing sirens and the walls were blinking in harsh red light. Two more fast jolts rocked the room and Katja was falling out of his grip and onto the floor. Jim scrambled for purchase, nearly falling off the bed, and clung to his pillow as tears gathered in his eyes.

He was scared. Back at his house, Sammy would sometimes come and be with him during the big thunderstorms, even if Sammy wasn't even afraid. But here on a starship – he knew he was on a starship because Doctor Bones had said so before – Sammy wasn't around.

He wanted Spock. Spock would protect him from anything.

Gathering up his courage as another short shudder hit the room, Jim climbed down off the bed and ran to the door. As it opened and he looked down the hall, Jim could see doctors and nurses running around checking on current patients. Jim hurried down the corridor, running up alongside the wall, past all the flustered medical personnel without drawing attention to himself. He stopped near the door leading out of sickbay and through his panic tried to remember exactly where Spock's room was. Jim had been there before, and he knew from walking there with Spock that it was on the same deck as Doctor Bones' sickbay; he struggled a little to remember what number it was – the one Spock had taught him to recite.

As the red sirens screamed around him, Jim slipped out of sickbay and ran.

* * *

By the time McCoy stumbled into sickbay, the attack had already been going on for a long two minutes. (He was pretty sure it was an attack and not just Scotty messing around with the engines again.) McCoy was haphazardly dressed, having made himself decent quite quickly after being jarred awake in his bed, but the only continuous thought on his mind was getting ready for an emergency and fast.

Of course, it was only natural that the red alert promptly silenced once McCoy had sufficiently prepared himself for the worst.

Christine, who had also come swiftly to sickbay from her quarters, tried to subdue her tired smile and laugh as McCoy sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

After passing a glance over the present patients and seeing that the current personnel on shift were adequately handling whatever minor fallout there was, McCoy bid the also-departing Christine good night and made his way back to his quarters. It wasn't like the _Enterprise_ wasn't susceptible to attack out here in the various spots of the galaxy, and it certainly wasn't the first time it'd ever happened in such a fashion. But regardless, McCoy felt he could do with a lot less of it all, thank you very much.

McCoy yawned wide as the turbolift slid to a smooth stop on Deck 9, and he was in his quarters undressing within the next few minutes. In the morning he'd find out just what all the ruckus was about and end up cursing whatever alien ship or anomaly or whatever the hell it was that had decided it was a good idea to attack a Federation starship. For now, he was getting some damn sleep.

He fell back onto his bed with another yawn, curling up in the blankets and beginning to drift off fast.

It was all routine for him; nothing out of the ordinary.

In a split second that felt like an hour, a biting chill struck his spine. McCoy's eyes snapped open with a renewed sense of alertness and he bolted up from where he was laying, a sharp intake of air pulling through his lips in sudden realization.

_Shit… Jim!_

_

* * *

_

Spock abruptly stopped dressing when the red alert went silent. He'd been pulled out of his nightly session of mediation when what he'd presumed was an enemy attack had begun, and as it had taken a relatively significant amount of time to pull out from his concentrated state, Spock was still putting on his uniform when the current emergency was evidently called off.

He stood still for a moment as the silence continued and the ship remained stable. Whatever emergency had been present, Lieutenant Uhura had markedly and efficiently taken care of it. Spock contemplated calling the bridge himself and checking on the status of the bridge, but his trust in Uhura was well justified and wholesome; she would be taking sufficient care of the ship while in temporary command. He would simply request a report during his next shift.

Spock began undressing, this time in preparation for sleep. The hour was quite late, and while he did not need as much sleep as his human acquaintances, he knew that spending the remaining hours before Alpha shift resting would be extremely beneficial to him.

He'd just removed his boots and blue science tunic when the sound of rapid knocking on his door echoed through the room.

Spock turned around, curious as to who would come to his quarters so late in the nightly hours. Granted, if another emergency had occurred that required his attention it would only be natural that he be sought out; but wouldn't it have been a more convenient means to simply use the comm unit? Unless communications were somehow down, he couldn't think of any other logical reason…

He stiffened as his thoughts wandered to Jim. Perhaps something had happened to him?

In a swift movement Spock crossed over to his door, quickly keying it open. It was evidently no crewmember knocking, as the only thing that met Spock at eye-level was a vacant corridor. But it didn't take long for an answer to make itself known, for the second that his door was finished sliding open something bowled into Spock's legs.

Caught by a sense of surprise, Spock blinked down at the boy. "Jim?" The toddler clung resolutely to the half-Vulcan's knees, his face buried in the fabric of Spock's pants and his entire body shaking.

Quickly pushing aside his initial astonishment, Spock reached down and grabbed Jim's quaking shoulders, pulling the child just far enough away from his legs so that he could kneel down in front of him. Jim immediately latched onto the front of his remaining undershirt, trying to hide his face against his chest. Spock had seen Jim in pain and tears already, with unfortunate and unwanted thanks to the ambassador of Telora, but the current state of the boy was completely different from the previous occasion; Jim looked absolutely terrified, tears prickling the corners of his eyes and a soft whimper emitting from him.

"Jim," Spock said with soft urgency, "are you hurt?" The child didn't answer, instead attempting to situate himself even closer to the half-Vulcan.

Spock tried again. "Jim, please answer me." He spoke with a slightly firmer voice, but his touch was gentle as he tilted the boy's face up towards his. "Are you hurt?"

Jim blinked, sending two tears trailing down the sides of his face. He shook his head.

Just frightened then; a wave of relief flowed through him, but Spock didn't bother trying to convince himself of the feeling's illogical nature. He knew that he could not be with Jim at all times, but something – he supposed humans referred to it as a "whim" of sorts – told Spock that he most likely would not forgive himself if any kind of harm befell the captain in his present state. That Jim was safe meant more to Spock than he could properly anticipate.

He wrapped Jim in his arms and drew the child to him, personally relishing the contact as Jim clung tighter to him and cuddled in close.

"It's all right, Jim," Spock murmured into the blonde hair. "You are safe. I have you." He stood up with Jim securely in his arms and stepped away from the door, allowing it to close and lock. As he crossed the space to his bed Spock continued to speak nonsensical assurances – "sweet nothings" as Doctor McCoy had referred to them in his explanation – but found that despite the words' rather generic and inconsequential nature, they were in fact quite comforting. They were also very true: now that Spock had him, he wouldn't allow anything of detrimental nature to befall Jim.

He supposed the logical thing to do would be to return Jim to sickbay; no doubt the boy's absence would be noticed after a point. But another look at the tiny form in his arms quickly sealed his chosen decision in his mind: he would not be letting Jim out of his sights, not tonight at least.

Spock set Jim down on his bed and began to pull away with the intention of changing out of his uniform trousers and into his sleeping pants. Jim evidently had other ideas, clinging steadfastly to Spock's undershirt and looking up at the half-Vulcan with pleading eyes.

"Spock?" The small voice held a flavor of worry, and it was clear Jim didn't want Spock to leave, even if it was to a distance mere feet away. Spock's lips quirked and he leaned back in, pressing a kiss to Jim's forehead and allowing the child to wrap his arms around his neck.

At another soft whimper, Spock spoke. "Shh, little one, I am here. Do not be afraid." Slipping an arm under Jim and lifting him up, Spock pulled back the covers on his bed and sat down on it. "I will not allow anything to harm you." He lay back, taking Jim with him and settling him against his side, cradling the child's head in the crook of his shoulder. As Spock drew up the blankets to cover them both, Jim snuggled in further, fisting a small hand into the material covering the half-Vulcan's chest.

Spock brushed his fingers across Jim's forehead, gently projecting soft impulses of comfort and restful slumber. He watched as the toddler's eyelids slowly fluttered and his body relaxed. Before closing completely, blue eyes gazed softly up him, more comforted but still slightly questioning.

"Sleep, Jim," Spock whispered, trailing his fingers down to pet the boy's cheeks. "I will be here when you wake." As if satisfied, Jim's eyes shut and he was sleeping soundly within a minute. Spock pulled his hand back, but quickly noticed that his fingers were covered in light perspiration. Realizing his room's high temperature was too much for Jim, Spock quietly called out an order for the computer to lower it to the standard level for human comfort. The difference was quickly noticed and Spock curled himself more into the blankets and against the child's warm form.

With the peaceful silence of the ship surrounding them once more, Spock quickly followed Jim into sleep.

* * *

McCoy was near panic. When he'd bolted back into sickbay and into Jim's room, only to find the bed empty and that stuffed rabbit of Chekov's lying discarded on the floor, he'd felt his blood run cold. He'd searched the entire room, as well as the others in the immediate vicinity, but had had no luck. What was worse, the current physician in charge, Doctor Kaspari, hadn't seen Jim either. All of the medical personnel had either been seeing to their current patients or preparing for an upcoming emergency when the red alert was sounding, and none had noticed Jim leave his room or sickbay – if he'd even left at all.

The ensuing search of sickbay yielded no results, and soon the entire medical staff on duty was feeling the weight of guilt on their shoulders. McCoy knew that everyone under his authority was a professional and had been doing his or her job when the circumstance had called for it, and couldn't possibly have been able to keep an eye out for a four year old while prepping for the worst. Even so, McCoy couldn't help but feel his own weighed down by his own sense of responsibility – he was in charge of watching Jim in the first place, and he'd managed to go and lose him.

Searching for Jim's life sign wasn't an option; for some reason no one could determine, the computer didn't read the kid's life sign as Captain James T. Kirk's. McCoy figured it was somehow tied to Jim's reduction in age, but he'd never thought more of it. As various doctors and nurses volunteered to search nearby areas on the same deck, he finally called the bridge and relayed to Uhura the situation, then resigned himself helplessly to letting security handle it.

He didn't know where else to look. Chances were Jim was still on Deck 5, but _where?_ Did Jim even know how to use the turbolift? McCoy had never given the possibility much thought until now; Jim wouldn't be able to reach the lift buttons, but if he managed to figure out how to operate it using simple vocal commands, then the possible places Jim could be now were significantly more numerous than before.

McCoy ran a hand over his face, continuing to wander around sickbay and vainly check the nooks and crannies for Jim's presence. He knew that Jim was most definitely safe – where, he didn't know – since in the end, turbolift access or not, there were only so many places he could get to without an authorization code. Perhaps somebody had already found him and reported so to Uhura… but if that was the case, Uhura would have called to tell him. He contemplated going and searching himself, but realized he had no real idea where to look first. McCoy had no idea just when Jim had gone missing from his room, and as such he had no idea just how far he'd gotten, wherever it was he'd went.

He eventually found his way back to Jim's room. His eyes caught on the discarded stuffed rabbit and he picked it up, staring into its vibrant eyes as he absently clutched it close and stroked the white fur between his fingers.

He couldn't help but feel that it was somehow his fault. McCoy hadn't been on duty when the event happened, but he _had_ come down to sickbay in the first place. Even though he'd been running on autopilot and went through the occurrence with routine behavior, he felt the heaviness on his shoulders intensify at the thought that he hadn't considered checking on Jim once the minor crisis was over. Jim was already his best friend, but McCoy didn't deny that his feelings for Jim – the general affection and protectiveness – had certainly shifted and deepened since his transformation. He supposed it may have been because he was a father himself, and Joanna wasn't much older than Jim presently was. The idea that Jim had been – if he wasn't still doing so – wandering around somewhere alone and scared tore at a familiar area in McCoy's heart.

He wished he could have been there for the kid.

McCoy just knew that the next chance he got, he was giving Jim the biggest hug he could muster without hurting him. That was a promise.

And minutes later, when Uhura found him sitting on Jim's bed and graced him with the most reassuring smile and two simple words that spoke volumes – "_he's safe_" – McCoy felt the most intense burst of relief flood his system and resolutely fought back the instantaneous wetting of his eyes that came upon them as a result.


	9. Sweet Irony

**Title:** What We Remember Forever

**Fandom:** _Star Trek (XI)_

**Rating:** PG

**Pairing:** Kirk/Spock (friendship)

**Warnings:** OOC-ness on Spock's part (although by default I'm trying to write him as in-character as I possibly can, so we'll just see how that turns out), references to past emotional child neglect, and – as per usual – MASSIVE FLUFF.

**Notes:** So I know that nobody knows the actual name of the man fondly referred to as "Cupcake" from the film, but I've seen many fics refer to him as Giotto. Frankly, the name just grew on me – particularly from being familiar with the original series – and let's be honest: he kind of looks like a chief of security, doesn't he? XD And thus, until (or if ever) his real name is revealed, I will be calling him Giotto.

This one's more of a blurb than anything, but the idea wouldn't leave me alone. Enjoy the shortness!

* * *

_**Sweet Irony**_

(in which Lieutenant Giotto is smacked in the face with Jim's cute-stick)

"_When you look at a cupcake, you've got to smile."_ –Anne Byrn, the "Cake Mix Doctor"

* * *

It had been Nurse Chapel's idea to make cupcakes.

The galley chef and his staff had been ecstatic to aid their small captain in the activity, and as a direct result of their enjoyment literally _hundreds_ of cupcakes had been made in the span of half the day – many of them traditionally baked rather than simply reconstituted. It seemed impossible, but it was true, and not a few hours later Jim and some of the staff, along with Chapel, were wandering the ship and handing cupcakes out to the crew.

That was how Lieutenant Giotto had run into him.

Chapel was with Jim, rolling a cart alongside the kid as he eagerly stopped crewmembers as they walked in order to pick out one of the sweet treats and give it to them. Giotto had to admit, the kid was pretty cute, and he wasn't just saying that because he was technically still the captain. Although they'd had a considerably rocky start during their academy years, he and Kirk had come to develop a respectable camaraderie during their first year of service together aboard the _Enterprise_. And while they weren't really close by any means, Giotto had found he rather liked Kirk, despite the fact that the captain tended to still call him by that amiably stupid nickname.

As Giotto started to pass the two, Jim turned in his direction and quickly stopped. The kid's eyes widened as he craned his neck in order to look up at the man.

Giotto was not a person concerned about his size. He knew he was a pretty big guy – hell, that was probably one of the reasons Kirk had made him chief of security – but it wasn't until he had the four-year-old, such a tiny thing he now realized, staring awed up at him that the lieutenant suddenly became aware of just how looming he might be. Neither he nor Jim moved for a moment, and Giotto wondered if he should just continue on; he didn't want to scare the kid.

Chapel was looking on with a sense of calm amusement. Around them, the corridor seemed to have quieted considerably.

Jim turned around, standing up on his toes in order to reach up and pluck one of the treats from the top of the cart. He looked back up at Giotto and smiled shyly, holding up the frosted pink confection to him.

"Cupcake?" came the tiny offering.

Further down the hall, the loud guffaw that could be heard no doubt belonged to Lieutenant Uhura.

The slight, almost nonexistent tension dissipated around them, and Giotto soaked in the gentle irony of the situation. Chapel and some of the nearby officers also began to laugh, and the security chief couldn't stop himself from joining in. Jim's face positively shined in delight.

"Yeah, kid," Giotto relented easily, bending slightly and taking the cupcake from the child.

Jim paused in apparent thought for a moment before he stepped forward and hugged the officer around his knee. Giotto raised an eyebrow in surprise, but nevertheless reached down and ruffled the kid's hair.

"Thank you," Jim said happily as he stepped back.

Giotto raised the cupcake. "Thank _you_," he returned, and took a bite.

* * *

**A/N:** Lol, I love how evidently susceptible Uhura is to laughter whenever I write her. It amuses me. XD


	10. Under the Influence

**Title:** What We Remember Forever

**Fandom:** _Star Trek (XI)_

**Rating:** PG

**Pairing:** Kirk/Spock (friendship)

**Warnings:** OOC-ness on Spock's part (although by default I'm trying to write him as in-character as I possibly can, so we'll just see how that turns out), references to past emotional child neglect, and – as per usual – MASSIVE FLUFF.

**Notes:** I'm eating chocolate pudding right now and, ah… got inspired. XD Maybe it's kind of stupid, but oh well. Enjoy!

(On another note, the plot tribble bit me and now I'm getting increasingly more inspired to write a WWRF snippet that somehow involves Sarek. I have NO idea how I'm going to end up doing that, but I'll find a way. Because really: Sarek and little Jim? How cute would that be? :3 I'mma totally work something out.)

* * *

_**Under the Influence**_

(in which Spock is paranoid about pudding)

"_Sharing food with another human being is an intimate act that should not be indulged in lightly."_ –M.F.K. Fisher (1908 - 1992)

* * *

Of course, McCoy thought it was hysterical.

"I do not see why my situation is so humorous to you, Doctor. All I am asking for is a means to counteract whatever effects may occur."

"Whatever effects may occur?" McCoy repeated between chortles. "Spock, there was less than an ounce of chocolate in that bowl of pudding, and you'd only eaten about half of it. At most you might feel a little tipsy, but then I don't know what your tolerance is. What, are you a lightweight or something?" The doctor laughed again at the thought.

Spock straightened, looking as if he was resisting the human urge to roll his eyes. "I would not know. This is the first instance I have ever ingested the substance."

McCoy slowly stopped laughing, but his face was still alight with mirth. "I see. So how was it?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"The taste, Spock. Did you like it?"

"It was rather satisfactory, yes." If McCoy didn't know any better, he'd say the half-Vulcan was barely beginning to blush. "However, you are neglecting the initial point of my visit."

"Spock, I just told you, the amount you ate isn't near enough to get you intoxicated. And with that metabolism of yours, I'd say it'll be completely out of your system within the next two hours or so. There's nothing to worry about."

The half-Vulcan tilted his head down and raised an eyebrow. "You are certain?"

"_Yes_," McCoy stressed without any actual frustration. "…Well, maybe. I don't know, this _is_ the first time I've dealt with this kind of situation with you."

"So there is a possibility? I must request that you be clearer in your judgment, as I do not wish to report to the bridge under a form of inebriation."

At the look on Spock's face, McCoy finally sighed. "Fine, you know what? Fine. Hold on a sec, you pointy-eared infant." He crossed over and yanked open one of the cabinets, scrolling through the various containers and items before taking and filling two hyposprays with the appropriate contents. McCoy came back over with less of an annoyed stride and handed them to Spock individually. "If you get a headache, this is the one you want. Any trouble sleeping and you'll have a mild sedative on hand. But like I said, it really shouldn't affect you so much, not with that amount." McCoy paused and shrugged. "Or maybe it will; who knows?"

"Your level of certainty is astounding, Doctor."

"So is your common sense. Honestly, Spock, what possessed you to do it, saying yes to eating chocolate _anything_ when you know how it affects that green-blooded body of yours?"

Spock looked down in the guise of examining the hypos in his hands. "I do not believe I 'had the heart' at the time to say no."

McCoy fell silent. There was no witty quip ready on his tongue for that, not that he'd want to throw it at Spock even if there had been. It was clear where Spock stood in terms of respect for Jim as a captain, but the unspoken reality of just how far Spock would go for his friend, no matter the age, was damn near blinding. And despite whatever kind of aversion that remained between himself and the half-Vulcan, if there was still any, McCoy wouldn't dare taint that relationship for the reaction of any humorous remark in the world. Besides, Jim was a sweet kid, and McCoy probably wouldn't have been able to resist the innocent offer at the time either.

He eventually settled for a light pat on Spock's shoulder. "You'll be fine," McCoy said, feeling some kind of satisfaction welling up inside him when Spock looked up to meet his eyes. "Just promise me you'll try to resist if he offers you a giant slab of fudge cake."

Spock quirked an eyebrow. "I shall endeavor to do my best. Thank you, Doctor."

Well after Spock left, McCoy quietly cursed when he realized he was getting a rather large hankering for some pudding.

* * *

A/N: In reference to the title, I figured that the "influence" in this case would be Jim. He's pretty much got everyone wrapped around his little finger at this point, doesn't he? XD


	11. Bedtime

**Title:** What We Remember Forever

**Fandom:** _Star Trek (XI)_

**Rating:** PG

**Pairing:** Kirk/Spock (friendship)

**Warnings:** OOC-ness on Spock's part (although by default I'm trying to write him as in-character as I possibly can, so we'll just see how that turns out), references to past emotional child neglect, and – as per usual – MASSIVE FLUFF.

**Notes:** School's starting back up on Monday for me, and while that will most likely mean less frequent updates, just know that the ideas are still flowing in my head. (Plus, I still have that growing list of suggestions and requests from you guys.) This story is in no danger of stopping any time soon; it might just slow down a bit is all. :D Thank you in advance for your patience!

This snippet is dedicated to M. Monster, who wanted to see Uhura's story time with Jim (aforementioned in chapter six). :3 Hope you like this!

(Also, apologies beforehand if anyone's thrown off by the way the quotation marks are used once Uhura starts reading to Jim. …I dunno, they just might look funky to some people, but I wanted to be grammatically correct! *ducks*)

* * *

_**Bedtime**_

(in which Uhura reads Jim a bedtime story)

"_Much of my reading time over the last decade and a half has been spent reading aloud to my children. Those children's bedtime rituals of supper, bath, stories, and sleep have been a staple of my life and some of the best, most special times I can remember."_ –Louise Brown (b. 1978)

* * *

"Uhura!"

The communications officer smiled at the sight of the four-year-old running toward her clad in his soft flannel pajamas. From the room that Jim had come running from, McCoy poked his head out, lips quirking in a grin as he watched Jim greet Uhura.

"Hey there, sugar," she said fondly as the child hugged himself around her legs. Uhura shifted the PADD she was carrying into one of her arms and reached down to ruffle Jim's hair. When she noticed it was slightly damp, she added, "Did you have a nice bath?"

"Uh-huh. Bones let me have bubbles, and Mister Spock got to come and play with me!"

Uhura raised an eyebrow, biting the inside of her cheek to keep the laugh building in her throat from escaping. "Did he? That sounds like fun." She looked up and saw McCoy walking over to them. "He's as dynamic as always, isn't he?"

"He's Jim Kirk alright," McCoy said, shaking his head affectionately before reaching down and grabbing the boy's sides, earning a short squeal from him. "Come on, Jim, let's give Miss Uhura some room and get you into bed."

"But Bones!" Jim exclaimed, turning around to face the doctor, "I have to brush my teeth first!"

"Is that right?" McCoy said with exaggerated surprise, bringing up a hand to palm his forehead in mock disbelief. "That's good of you to remember, sport. This old man's memory must be going."

Jim giggled at the face McCoy made. "You're silly," he said, squirming as the man reached for his sides again. "You didn't forget, 'cause you're a doctor! And doctors are smart."

McCoy's joking nature softened into genuine warmth. "Glad you think so, kid," he said, stroking the blonde hair. "Now go on, get those teeth brushed."

Jim ran off to the bathroom and Uhura smiled to herself. She was certain she wasn't the only one who noticed the changes in Doctor McCoy that began occurring since the captain's age reduction. The gruff edges he was known throughout the ship for having had softened considerably upon taking up caring for Jim. It was also another reminder to those who knew the doctor on a more personal level that he was a father himself; it never ceased to amaze Uhura just how gentle McCoy could apparently be. And while they hadn't known each other that well from the beginning of their service together, Uhura liked being able to get to know McCoy better this way. It was certainly an enlightening, and quite endearing, experience.

As they both walked in the direction of the bathroom, McCoy turned to her. "So what are you reading him this time?"

Uhura held the PADD out to him. "He's taken a liking to this one; he asked for it specifically the past couple of nights."

"_How Many Kisses Do You Want Tonight?_" McCoy read off of the screen. He bit his lip as another grin worked its way onto his face, and if Uhura didn't know any better she'd say he was beginning to blush. "That's sweet. This is an old one, isn't it?"

"Mm. Early twenty-first century, I think. My grandmother used to tell me ancient folk tales as bedtime stories, but occasionally she would read me old children's stories of other origins. I remember she read this one a few times and I thought Jim would like it."

McCoy scanned through some of the pages, nodding. "I can see why." He handed the PADD back to Uhura. "Good choice."

Uhura smiled. "Glad to know I have the doctor's approval."

Jim toddled out of the bathroom, immediately latching onto McCoy's hand. "I'm all done now," he proclaimed.

"Let me see," McCoy said, crouching down and squeezing the tiny hand warmly. Jim obediently bared his teeth and let the man examine them, giggling when McCoy pulled back and tapped on his nose. "Good boy. Now come on, off to bed."

As McCoy began to lead the way, Jim reached out and grabbed onto Uhura's fingers with his free hand. She felt her smile grow and allowed herself to be pulled along as they walked to Jim's room. They neared the doorway and suddenly McCoy turned and swept Jim up into his arms, much to the child's delight. Uhura paused at the threshold, allowing the two to have their moment before she took over. She looked down at her PADD while McCoy began tucking Jim in, able to hear their ensuing soft conversation.

"Are you gonna be good for Miss Uhura?"

"Uh-huh. I'm gonna help her read a story again!"

"That's good, Jim, I'm sure she'll like that." McCoy finished tucking the blankets around Jim's body and paused. "Try not to get too excited, alright? You _are_ supposed to go to sleep after this."

Jim smiled, cooing as he snuggled into the blankets around him. "Okay."

McCoy looked at him a short moment longer before bending over the toddler and kissing him gently on the forehead.

"Goodnight, darlin'," he whispered. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"G'night, Bones."

Uhura looked up as McCoy stepped through the doorway and stopped in front of her. The expression on the doctor's face she couldn't quite place, but if she had to guess, she would say it was very close to a mixture of fondness and longing.

"He's all yours," McCoy said, glancing in Jim's direction briefly. "I'll be working out here for another hour, so if you need anything…"

"We'll be fine," Uhura lightly assured him.

The man nodded, touching her lightly on the arm almost as an afterthought. "Have fun then." McCoy started to leave, but then stopped and turned, pointing an accusing finger at her. "Not too much, though; I don't want him falling asleep over his breakfast tomorrow. I mean it."

Uhura laughed, able to see the obvious glint of humor in the doctor's eyes. "We'll be _fine_, Leonard, I promise," she exasperated kindly. "He'll be asleep before you know it."

McCoy nodded again, apparently satisfied, before bidding her goodnight and leaving.

Uhura entered Jim's room to see the boy waiting for her. He was sitting upright now, looking like he was struggling not to bounce in place as he watched her approach. _So much for not getting too excited_, she thought to herself.

"I'm coming, I'm coming, hold on!" Uhura said as she neared the bed. "Come on, lie back down." She sat down and scooted herself up to lean against the headboard; Jim lay back down and snuggled into her side, fingers latching onto her dress.

"Is this the one with the animal kisses?" Jim asked, pleading blue eyes gazing up at her.

"The one and the same," Uhura confirmed, feeling her heart melt a little. "Do you remember the parts I need you to help me with?" When Jim nodded she smiled. "Good." The two settled down more and Uhura brought up the PADD on her lap so Jim could see it clearly.

"_How Many Kisses Do You Want Tonight?_" she read from the title screen, then used the stylus to flip to the first page. "'"How many kisses do you want tonight?" Daddy Bear growled, cuddling Little Bear tight.'" Uhura kept her voice soft, allowing them both to relax as they focused on the bedtime story.

"'"I want ONE," laughed Little Bear,'" Jim recited slowly, "'"A big, loud kiss on my soft, brown hair."'" Jim wasn't actually reading now so much as he was simply continuing the story from memory. It was true what Uhura had told McCoy before, that Jim had requested this bedtime story more than once. The very first night she'd read it to him and had him help her along with some of the sentences, Jim had managed to read it slowly and with her help, but he'd loved it.

In keeping with continuity, Uhura bent down and soundly kissed the top of Jim's head. If she had to guess, she'd say that _that_ was the real reason why Jim loved the story so much; but then, what was she complaining about?

She continued on to the next page. "'"How many kisses do you want, young fellow?" Mommy Duck asked, fluffing Little Duck yellow.'"

Jim piped up with the answer. "'"I want TWO," he said with a q…' quaaa… '_quack_.'"

"Very good, Jim," Uhura murmured quietly.

The child leaned into her further and continued. "'"One on my beak and one on my back."'" Uhura kissed Jim's head twice.

"'"How many kisses do you want, my dear?" Daddy Cat meowed in Little Cat's ear.'"

"'"I want THREE," purred Little Cat, yawning and curling up on her mat.'"

Uhura planted three more kisses onto the blonde head.

"'"How many kisses…"'"

She continued on, through Mommy Butterfly and Daddy Horse, onto Daddy Bird and Mommy Spider, and with each new animal and their baby came more kisses. With each page Uhura lowered her voice more, feeling Jim gradually sag against her as he fought a losing battle against sleep. He would still answer with his assigned part, albeit softer and slower until he was just barely whispering it. Still, she continued on, reading softly through each pair until she reached the last one.

Uhura paused slightly before reading it. "'"How many kisses do you want, brave knight?" Mommy asked her Little Boy, hugging him tight.'" When Jim didn't respond, she softly continued. "'"I want a MILLION," he said with delight. Finishing his book, he said good night.'" She looked down to see Jim fast asleep, cuddled up against her hip and fingers loosely clinging to the fabric of her dress. Quietly, she turned off the PADD before sitting still a moment and watching Jim. Slowly, very slowly, she pulled away from him, letting Jim's hand unconsciously pull itself toward him and curl up in front of his face on the pillow.

Uhura tucked the blankets around Jim where they had loosened, smiling as Jim slept on, breathing in gentle, lightly whistling pulls of air. Brushing away a lock of hair from Jim's face, she leaned down and pressed one last kiss to the side of his head.

"Good night, sweet thing," she whispered. Satisfied that Jim was not in danger of waking up soon, Uhura straightened and slowly made her way out of the room, taking one last glance at the sleeping child before departing.

She waved to McCoy as she left sickbay, giving him a thumbs-up as she passed and receiving a nod of thanks in return. With a final thought to the slumbering four-year-old, Uhura's mind wandered back to her regular duties; she had a few more to take care of before it was her own bedtime.

* * *

A/N: The story Uhura reads to Jim in this snippet is the children's book by Varsha Bajaj, _How Many Kisses Do You Want Tonight?_ It's a pretty cute one, I think. :3


	12. Protection

**Title:** What We Remember Forever

**Fandom:** _Star Trek (XI)_

**Rating:** PG

**Pairing:** Kirk/Spock (friendship)

**Warnings:** OOC-ness on Spock's part (although by default I'm trying to write him as in-character as I possibly can, so we'll just see how that turns out), references to past emotional child neglect, and – as per usual – MASSIVE FLUFF.

**Notes:** Yay, new chapter. :D I really hope I didn't end up rushing this one, but for some reason it took way too long to write.

This one's dedicated to KCS, who suggested a segment where Jim's famous allergies come into play. (This, ah… turned out a smidge more angsty than I'd planned… but oh well. More opportunity for a little h/c.)

Enjoy!

* * *

_**Protection**_

(in which a scare occurs for everyone)_**  
**_

"_Fear makes us feel our humanity."_ –Benjamin Disraeli (1804 - 1881)

* * *

On this particular morning Spock found himself eating breakfast with Jim.

It was to his unspoken surprise that he had run into McCoy, Jim in tow, on his way to the mess. Normally, at least as far as Spock's knowledge went, Jim was scheduled for the morning meal approximately one hour after Spock took his – a time after which Alpha shift had already started. However, seeing as how it was the intention of each of them to partake in breakfast at the current time, it was only logical that the three consume it together.

Of course, Jim's additional insistence that he and McCoy sit with Spock was rather strong.

In due time they were seated at a table within the decently filled mess, Jim settled beside Spock and McCoy across from them. Jim happily began to eat one of the two small pancakes on his plate – only after McCoy had helped pour on an acceptable amount of maple syrup, of course – while the two adults started on their own meals.

Absently glancing over to the bowl in front of Spock, McCoy frowned. "Again with that stuff?"

Spock paused in bringing the spoon to his lips. "Is there a problem, Doctor?"

"That's the only thing I've ever seen you eat for breakfast," McCoy elaborated. "That… that 'soup,' as you call it."

Spock set the spoon down into his bowl, straightening in his seat as if preparing for a debate. "Plomeek soup is a traditional Vulcan breakfast. It contains sufficient nutrients and vitamins beneficial to the maintenance of the Vulcan body. As a physician, I do not see why you would object–"

McCoy waved a hand, palm out, effectively halting Spock's words. "Spock, I'm not criticizing your food choice," he said, closing his eyes in slight exasperation. "I was just curious if you'd ever considered an occasional alternative; fruit or something."

The slanted eyebrow went up and Spock seemed to fall into a state of thoughtfulness. After a brief moment his shoulders shifted subtly, the closest to a shrug McCoy had seen on the half-Vulcan.

"There is no need," came the settled answer.

"Fine, fine, forget I asked. Just eat your godda… ah, your soup." Both he and Spock glanced down at Jim, but the boy was thankfully occupied with his pancakes. McCoy ducked somewhat sheepishly as Spock fixed him with an almost chastising look, diverting his focus back onto his scrambled eggs and toast. The meal continued on mostly in comfortable silence, McCoy casting checking glances onto Jim as the boy ate and smiling in silent approval whenever Jim temporarily abandoned his pancakes for some of the fruit on the side of his tray.

Abruptly the communicator at McCoy's side beeped, signaling the arrival of a message. Sighing through his most recent bite of toast, the doctor reached down for it and flipped it open. He read through it quickly before sighing again and pushing his chair out from the table.

"Duty calls," he explained with a tone of reluctance. "Ensign took a bump on the head down in Engineering. Don't know why those people insist on working so early in the morning down there…" McCoy finished off his coffee in one final gulp before wiping his mouth with a napkin and standing. Jim looked up at him questioningly; the doctor sent a smile back at him before turning to Spock. "When you're done, would you bring him by sickbay before you go up to the bridge?"

"Of course," Spock assured, inwardly pleased at the thought of getting to spend more time with Jim before his shift. McCoy nodded in thanks, waving goodbye to Jim before making his way out of the mess.

Spock continued to eat for another two minutes before he realized that Jim was looking at him. He glanced to the side, discovering that it wasn't actually him the boy was looking at; rather, it was the bowl in front of him.

Aware that Spock's attention was now on him, Jim spoke up. "What's that?" He reached up to point at the bright orange liquid in the bowl for clarification.

Spock's facial features softened, recalling that Jim hadn't been paying attention to his earlier conversation with Doctor McCoy. "It is plomeek soup," he answered dutifully.

"What's 'plomeek'?"

"It is a Vulcan plant." Spock made sure to keep his answers short for Jim's sake.

"Like a flower?"

Spock looked away in thought before conceding. "It is a flowering plant, yes. It is used to make many varieties of consumable fare, such as soup and tea, and it is very healthy."

"Can I try it?"

The corners of Spock's lips twitched and his eyebrow went up. "I do not think you will like it," he said carefully. "Its taste is quite bland to humans."

"Please?"

As Jim looked up at him pleadingly, Spock considered. That Jim would find the soup's flavor distasteful was assuredly guaranteed. However, at the same time the opportunity was given for Jim to learn something for himself through trial-and-error, and the scientist in Spock could not deny him that opportunity. Although he was positive the child would dislike the taste, Spock would let Jim ascertain the fact for himself as a learning experience. What true harm could it do?

"Very well." Seeing that there were no utensils to spare, Spock took up a small amount of soup within his own spoon. Making sure it would not drip, he guided the spoon toward Jim and held it out for him to take. Instead, Jim's hands took hold of Spock's, gripping it as an anchor as he leaned in to take the soup into his mouth. Spock lifted the end of the utensil in order to pull it cleanly out and watched for Jim's reaction.

Jim smacked his lips lightly four times before scrunching his face into an expression of dislike.

"That's not tasty at all," he whined softly.

Perhaps it was the choice of wording, or instead the sight presented as Jim smacked his lips more as if trying to rid his mouth of the remaining flavor. Whatever the reason, Spock felt a pit of warm amusement start growing within him.

"I did warn you," he said, reaching over to pull Jim's glass of water closer. Something bubbled in his abdomen, and he added, "Perhaps you should taste it again, just to be certain."

Jim quickly shook his head, grabbing the glass Spock had moved over and drinking from it. Were he more human, Spock believed he may well have expressed physical amusement at the sight. Making sure Jim didn't drink too fast, he turned back to finish the rest of his soup. Beside him, Jim set the glass down and started resuming his own meal.

It was after only after two minutes that Spock noticed that Jim's pace had eventually slowed to a stop.

Spock turned to regard him, seeing Jim paused with utensils in hand, his breakfast not even half-finished. He was staring at a point slightly off from his plate, head just barely lolling forward. The half-Vulcan frowned minutely.

"Jim?" When the boy didn't respond, Spock felt himself sit up straighter in sudden alertness. "What is wrong? Are you choking?"

Jim shook his head, albeit slowly, as if trying not to jar it. "I feel dizzy." The verbal answer was low and soft, almost forced. Spock reached out and rested a hand lightly over the boy's back.

"Perhaps you should return to Doctor McCoy sooner," said Spock quietly, more to himself, but suddenly the muscles beneath his hand were ridged and tense. The fork and knife fell from Jim's hands as they lowered to grip the sides of the table. A sudden, high-pitched gasp forced its way from the child's mouth, and Spock felt something horrifying settle over him when he realized that Jim was having difficulty breathing.

"Jim." He kept his voice controlled as he reached out to cup the side of the boy's neck, tilting the panicked face toward him in an attempt to ascertain what was wrong. "_Jim._"

Tiny hands came up to clamp themselves around Spock's wrist, petrified blue eyes gazing up at him with pleading confusion.

For a brief, tense moment, Spock was on the _Enterprise_'s bridge one point four seven years prior, bent over a helpless Jim Kirk as he lay feeble on the helm console, slowly suffocating to death.

His chair fell backward onto the floor with an unmistakable crash as he stood up. Spock could feel the eyes of all the occupants of the mess fall onto him with the sound, but he paid them no heed. Jim was in his arms before anyone could speak, and he turned to face the nearest crewmember.

"Alert sickbay immediately. Tell Doctor McCoy I am on my way."

Jim started to wheeze, and Spock didn't remain to hear the instantaneous acknowledgement the surprised ensign returned. He was running out of the mess in the next second, unmindful to the people who parted around him to give him space, his thoughts only on the urgent task at hand. The boy's grip around his neck weakened as he moved down the hall to the turbolift, which only served Spock to move faster. By the time he was in the lift and waiting the allotted time to transport up two deck levels, Jim's lips were turning blue and he was just barely breathing.

"Keep breathing, Jim," he urged, maintaining his poise even as he felt the boy's little heart hammering against his chest where he held him. "Do not stop; we're almost there."

No sooner had the lift doors opened onto Deck 5 was Spock sprinting out into the corridor, smoothly navigating his way until he'd reached the door into the medical bay.

McCoy was there waiting for him, his face set in a worried frown.

"What happened?" he asked immediately, running forward with a medical scanner and holding it over Jim.

"We were continuing to eat when–"

"_Dammit_. Over on the biobed – _now_." McCoy obviously understood what it was that was happening to Jim; his tone was clipped and professional. Spock quickly crossed over to the biobed McCoy was gesturing to.

"Lay him flat," came another barked order. "Chapel, get me a dose of epinephrine, stat."

"Yes, sir!"

"Back up now, Spock," McCoy said, softly but urgently. "Back! Kaspari, I need you over here!" The man in question quickly came over just as Christine returned with a loaded hypospray. Spock hovered a ways behind them all, eyes unable to tear away from the sight of Jim lying still on the biobed; the area around his eyes were reddening darkly and beginning to swell, and it was unclear if he was even still breathing.

"Hold him," McCoy instructed, and Kaspari did so. Without another thought, McCoy pumped the injection in. "Come on, sweetheart, stay with me…" With the two men leaning over him, Jim's form was obstructed from Spock's view – he watched as McCoy glanced over at him, then lean in to say something to Kaspari. "Get him out, I don't want him watching this."

The older physician frowned. "Sir, Mister Spock's witnessed much more severe conditions in the past. Surely this won't–"

"I said, I don't want him watching this." McCoy's voice was soft and final, enunciating each word with a tone that brooked no argument. It was clear the two were trying to keep their words private, but Spock's hearing was much too sensitive – he'd heard every word. Kaspari nodded and turned around, walking over with a somewhat apologetic look on his face.

"Commander, I'm sorry," he said quickly but sincerely, "but you need to wait outside. Don't worry, we're doing everything we can." Under normal conditions Spock would have found himself logically protesting his removal; now, he could think of no words at all as he willingly turned and removed himself from the area.

McCoy's commanding voice followed him out. "Dammit. Chapel, prep me some cortisone; start with half a cc and we'll work our way up if need be…"

Spock forced himself to continue moving.

It was only once he'd seated himself in McCoy's office that he felt his control begin to waver.

He shut his eyes and steepled his fingers in front of him and attempted to regain himself, but from behind his eyelids all Spock could see was Jim – Jim in his terrified confusion as he was handled into sickbay, as he struggled to breathe. Spock realized attempted meditation would not work so soon after, not until he knew whether or not Jim would be all right. Under any other circumstances it might have been shameful, having his attention so diverted that he was unable to center himself… but he found himself unable to experience such shame when he thought of Jim. He… Jim was his friend; he cared greatly for him, and the idea of anything serious happening to him while under Spock's care was disquieting.

Thankfully, approximately thirteen minutes later, Doctor McCoy came to alleviate his thoughts.

"Hey," the man said, grabbing a spare chair and pulling it up next to Spock. "I was wondering where you'd gotten to."

Spock lowered his hands to rest on his lap, turning to face the doctor. McCoy's expression was weary, but void of any negativity. It could only mean one thing.

"He is well, Doctor?" Spock asked.

McCoy nodded in confirmation. "He's much better," he said, a reassuring smile on his lips. "The swelling in his throat and face has gone down significantly, and he's breathing much easier now. He'll be just fine." He paused and his expression slowly sobered. "It was an anaphylactic reaction – a bad one. Whatever it was that caused it, it was ingested; there are no marks on Jim's body that say otherwise." He frowned lightly and adopted a thoughtful look. "Did we overlook something? Anything in the makeup of his breakfast?"

It suddenly hit Spock then, and he felt a fool for not realizing it sooner.

He sat up straighter in his seat. "Doctor, I believe I have the answer to your query." He looked at a point over McCoy's shoulder, for an unknown reason unable to look the man in the eye. "A short time after you departed from the mess, Jim wished to sample my soup. I foresaw no harm in the action, and so I allowed him to."

McCoy's expression softened in understanding, and he nodded slowly. "That must have been it. There's no other way I can see it happening. …It's a good thing you got him here when you did, Spock; otherwise…"

He didn't have to finish for Spock to know the consequence implied. He knew it quite well: Jim could have likely died. Given the rapid speed at which the severe reaction had progressed within Jim's system, that particular, grim outcome would have eventually been immanent.

Yes, Spock had rushed Jim to treatment as soon as he'd realized the danger of the situation…

But that did not change the fact that he had been the initial cause of it.

"Spock," McCoy said knowingly, proving that even now he could pry his way through the half-Vulcan's shell. "You can't possibly be blaming yourself for–"

"I alone gave him what caused his reaction. Therefore, it is my responsibility."

McCoy was shaking his head in disbelief. "You didn't know – how could you have? Spock, the thing about allergies is that you can't predict their development, at least not the ones that aren't already linked to heredity. Hell, some don't even make themselves physically known until adulthood. Now, yes, I know Jim's got a pretty extensive history with allergies, food-related and otherwise; I've got the complete list kept under his files. But the thing is, there is no way to predict just what else Jim might be allergic to, given his hair-trigger sensitivity. Anything could set it off, and the only way to really know if he has an allergy to something is if he has a reaction when exposed to it. And once we know that a substance _does_ cause a reaction, especially one that bad, we can be sure to keep him away from it. That's the cold, hard truth."

Spock's eyebrow twitched slightly, and at the look of inner concentration on his face McCoy knew he'd nailed it.

"I know it's easy to just take the blame yourself," McCoy continued, "especially if the matter concerns a friend or a loved one, but you need to realize that the mistake you happened to make is a common one. It shouldn't even be considered a mistake. You did what any person would do in your place: you let a kid try something new. I would have done the same thing, Spock, and I'm his _doctor_, for God's sake."

"I believe I understand your reasoning, Doctor, thank you," Spock cut in quietly.

McCoy paused before he snorted softly and felt a half-smirk work its way onto his face. "If that ain't Vulcan talk for 'shut up,' I don't know what is." He was glad to see the half-Vulcan beginning to return to his normal demeanor. Nevertheless, the subtle change only served to show that if there was one thing that pulled at Spock's humanity, it was Jim.

"I assume he is resting now," Spock said, rising and straightening his tunic with a tug to the bottom hem.

McCoy rose with him. "Mm-hm. Kid was completely worn out by the end of the treatment. Once he's completely stabilized we'll move him to his room and he can sleep as long as he needs to. I don't think there'll be any heavy play in his schedule today." Spock only nodded; McCoy smiled. "Listen, we'll keep watch over him down here. You go ahead and go to the bridge; somebody's gotta run this ship, after all. I mean, unless you want some time first. I can understand if–"

"I am of sound mind for duty," Spock interrupted rather shortly, but rather than leaving straightaway for the bridge, he paused. "I trust he will be amendable to visitors by the later hours."

"Sure will. Word about this probably won't get around past anyone who saw it in the mess, as well as probably some of the senior bridge officers, so chances are by the time you come around you'll get him all to yourself."

Spock raised an eyebrow. "Your response contains more information than my question required, but answers it regardless. I will take my leave then. Good day."

As he began leaving, McCoy pushed down the almost natural urge to call out a semi-sarcastic "you're welcome." He'd realized a couple days before that lately he'd been heeding more and more what would get a rise out of Spock, and then subsequently avoiding it. Teasing banter was one thing, but the idea of actually _taunting_ Spock was occurring less and less to him. Maybe he was growing soft – McCoy found the idea plausible and completely blamable on Jim – or he was genuinely starting to like the half-Vulcan.

Near the doorway, Spock paused before turning to regard him. "Doctor," he said, his stiffened demeanor appearing to soften. "…Thank you."

McCoy eventually nodded. "Likewise."

Without another word, Spock left for the bridge.

* * *

The ridged control Spock had regained in order to adequately perform during Alpha shift quickly began to break down once he entered Jim's room later in the afternoon.

Jim was asleep – _safe_ – but he looked so worn and pale. Spock lingered in the doorway for a minute before walking over and taking a seat by the child's bed. The knowledge that Jim had nearly been lost so easily reared itself anew, and Spock had to close his eyes momentarily. The unpleasant thought of Jim – particularly this Jim, such a vulnerable child – dying seeped through his conscious, and despite McCoy's earlier words Spock could not help but feel some small sense of responsibility for what had occurred. Yes, it was rather illogical as the doctor had insisted, but…

Pushing such thoughts aside, Spock reached out and placed his hand over the top of Jim's head, letting his fingers simply rest on the soft hair. He sat quietly, now merely content that he was likely the last visitor Jim would have for the afternoon and thus would not be disturbed.

Jim began waking under his touch, curling into himself slightly before slowly fluttering his eyes open. Spock pulled his hand back.

Catching sight of the half-Vulcan, Jim smiled through his sleepy haze. "Hi, Spock!" As enthusiastic as he must have been, Jim was still too weak on a physical level, and his voice carried just above a whisper.

"Hello, Jim," he greeted in return. "How are you feeling?"

"'M tired," Jim said, rubbing at the corner of his eye. "Bones said I ate something bad for me."

Spock felt something heavy blossom in his abdomen. "Yes, that is true."

Jim looked up at Spock as if studying him. He suddenly seemed to hunch in on himself. "Was it my fault?" His voice was tiny and hesitant.

"No, Jim." Spock's spine straightened immediately and he leaned forward just slightly to offer some comfort. "Of course not. You did nothing wrong. My soup was the cause; you are allergic to the base ingredient of it. That is what caused your reaction. It was not your fault."

"Oh." Jim seemed to contemplate the information. He frowned in a manner similar to when he'd first tasted the plomeek soup. "That's okay. It was yucky anyway."

For the first time since breakfast in the mess, Spock felt himself truly lighten. The corners of his lips curled up into a small smile. "Perhaps so," he agreed. Not quite on impulse, Spock reached out and caressed Jim's hair again, as if to reassure his eyes that the boy was indeed still safe in front of him. Jim latched onto Spock's hand and cuddled his face against it.

"Bones said you saved me," Jim murmured against Spock's skin. The commander resisted the urge to raise his eyebrow; he should have known Doctor McCoy would pass such responsibility onto him. Although the simple fact was not entirely accurate – the doctor had played a crucial role himself, after all – Spock found himself grateful for it.

"I suppose I did," he responded quietly, and suddenly Jim was reaching for him. Spock stood up and leaned over the bed, allowing the child to reach up and hug him.

"Thank you," came the shy whisper in his ear. From the area of his heart onward, Spock felt a flow of warmth expanding within him. He wrapped his hands around Jim's shoulders and ducked his head in, lightly pressing his nose into the junction of the boy's neck and shoulder.

"You are most welcome, Jim," he whispered in return.

They remained still for a short time, and Spock admitted to himself that the continuous contact was rather soothing, although soon he found he could not differentiate which of them was providing the comforting gesture and which was receiving it.

Perhaps they both were.

"Big kitty," he murmured, cuddling closer to the half-Vulcan, and Spock realized he was unconsciously purring. He shut his eyes and let himself continue, relishing the sleepy laughter as his throat reverberated against Jim's cheek.

Still tired from his previous ordeal, Jim fell back into sleep fast. Spock carefully pushed the boy back to lay against his pillow, then pulled away to maintain quiet vigil in the bedside chair for minutes longer.

Eventually satisfied with his watch, Spock quietly stood and left the room, casting a parting glance to the sleeping Jim before heading to his own quarters at a calm, steady walk.


End file.
